Thief in the Night
by LizzeXX
Summary: Aragorn/OC - The Fellowship has departed from Rivendell, their quest firmly in mind, when a woman comes, like a thief in the night, and steals the Ring from Frodo. As she learns of their journey, she offers her services in aid of their quest and may manage to steal more than just the Ring. After all, what is a quest without a burglar? First in the Quests of the Nameless trilogy.
1. Theft

A/N: Mae g'ovannen :) This is my first attempt at a Lord of the Rings story and is the first of the Quests of the Nameless trilogy, Thief in the Night :) I've written some other stories for other shows and movies, but this is my first time trying to incorporate an original character into LotR. So, just to get this out of the way so you know what you're getting into and can decide if you'd like to keep going, this story will be an Aragorn/OC.

To start, I _have_ read all 3 books in the Trilogy, as well as the Hobbit, seen the movies, and I've also had the pleasure of being able to take a college seminar on Tolkien. That said, this story will focus mainly on the events of the movies with a few changes here and there to remain closer to the spirit of the novels. I know there is a very loyal and large following for Tolkien's works and the last thing I would ever want to do is write a story that would be seen as an insult to him or the fanbase. Ironically, I was actually exposed to many 'what not to do's when it comes to LotR fanfictions before I was even ready to write a LotR story myself. A user that had plagiarized my Doctor Who stories in the past apparently had also plagiarized someone else's Lord of the Rings work before mine where they continued on to write a very...not-praised...Lord of the Rings story. I was told by others that their story was the epitome of what not to do in a Lord of the Rings fanfiction and I can comfortably say that my plans for this series did not go anywhere near those 'do nots.' So I hope that this story will be given a chance and that it will surprise many readers and go in different directions than some may think/expect. I know there are some traps and pitfalls that can come with writing a LotR story and I have done my best to try and put out a different story. If I do get anything completely, glaringly, can't-be-ignored wrong in the course of posting this story, please let me know and I'll do my very best to fix it!

This story will be about 10 chapters long and will be updated when I can find time to edit the chapters I've gotten written. Like the novels, this series will be broken up into three stories, each following each movie.

I hope you enjoy :)

~8~ is a scene break

Disclaimer...I don't own Lord of the Rings...otherwise (and I know this may be controversial to say) Tauriel would be an actual character in the books (as in there would be more active/involved female characters to balance the men lol) ;)

~8~

Theft

It was a strange sight indeed for two men, one wizard, and four halflings to be journeying with an elf and a dwarf, famed enemies, in one large group. Far too strange a sight to pass up when one made it their life's work to be aware of what went on about them.

The valley just south of Rivendell, a rather rough sort of country, did not offer much cover to those that wished to travel through it, which made the small fellowship rather a glaring sight indeed. It was truly an event that one could not pass by without being intrigued. It truly was such a strange occurrence, even more so when the taller men of the gathering appeared to all be trained warriors…

Yet they failed to take much notice of the shadow that was following them from shortly after they had stepped out of Rivendell to where they found themselves now, trekking through the deep valleys and waters of the country beyond the elven stronghold.

It was not unexpected or even strange an occurrence, for men so clearly skilled to take little notice of the one that did not belong. Rivendell was well known for its hospitality and safety, the aura of the land around the dwelling gave the same impression. There was no reason for the travelers to feel in danger at the moment, nor any reason for them to think someone following them was actually following instead of merely taking the same path out of Rivendell. Many ventured around these lands, they were not the only ones journeying through them. Should this particular shadow continue once they reached the more forested areas, then, perhaps, it would give the men reason to pause and take notice. But, for now, there was little to make them wary. There was no reason to feel threatened either, there was no ill will or intent to harm to be found in the shadow lingering behind them.

Perhaps some intent to surprise, though, the element of which was enormously useful for a particular profession.

The men were not looking for an enemy, not so close to such an illuminated and protected elven land, not so close to the start of their journey. Nor was the shadow an enemy that posed a true threat to them either, no, there were far greater dangers out there and far more attention and focus was needed to be aware of the despicable creatures that roamed Middle Earth than to put much thought to a lone straggler. One single shadowy figure against a group of nine? The odds were hardly against them in terms of number alone.

But there was one advantage the shadow held over them. The woods, the rivers, the land around them...were those the shadow knew well. Knew where to step, how far to keep away, how to keep the animals from reacting and alerting the men to the presence that was only a short distance now beside them and seeming intent to overtake them, pass them. And that was strategy in motion. The fellowship would notice one lagging behind, following in their footsteps before too long. As too would they notice another coming up alongside them. But they would give little thought to any that would pass them up and pay no mind to the group being passed. A false sense of security did wonders for a particular profession, and it was one the shadow was glad to use at any opportunity.

It was a gamble, this strategy though. Without knowing a destination, without knowing the reason for such a group to band together and journey out, there was little telling just where the group was heading. There was no way to determine their next course of action. But some risks had to be taken. Passing up such a group, relying on the lay of the land, the knowledge of the sources of sustenance that rested further ahead...one could hope suspicions and guesswork on where the group would come to stop would prove well founded. But it was still a risk to pass them and not know if they would, indeed, stop where the shadow thought they might.

Oh but it was…intriguing, such an odd assortment of men and of such varied races all working together. How could one pass up an opportunity to learn even more?

It did not take much to understand that something else was occurring here. There were few reasons why a wizard would travel with such a group, and none of those reasons included for leisure. When wizards appeared, when magic was at use, there was often something dark and sinister, something undeniably evil, looming on the horizon. Experience had taught that well enough. It was all a matter of how dark and how sinister and how far reaching such evil would be. For a wizard to be so active, such a presence, and so obvious, it meant that the danger was far greater than any would realize.

The shadow's lip quirked at the thought, their eyes drifting casually to the side as they passed within sight of the odd group, intent to pass them up, to get ahead of them, to set up where and how they knew more information could be gathered about just what danger could be coming.

And then…then it would be a matter of deciding whether the journey was worth the danger.

~8~

Some would call it a stroke of luck, a blessing of the Valar, that a large stream was flowing just far enough in the distance that the small fellowship would be inclined to rest there for a time and water their pony, refill their water skins, and refresh when they reached it. Some would call it that...however one shadow in particular would call it strategic planning and knowledge of the land. Knowing where the stream was, how far the company was from it and the general direction they seemed to be heading in, as well as how fast they were making time on their quest, it was a good guess that they would likely come upon the stream and have journeyed enough that they would wish to replenish supplies. It was, after all, a common stopping point for many a traveler from Rivendell once they had traveled long enough. It was not a good guess at all, but rather a fact that, being a single person of one, it was possible, nay exceedingly accurate, to reach the stream long before the others even came in sight of it.

It gave ample time to consider the situation, to run through problems or even to assess what had been gleamed of the various men among the group. To do what needed to be done, set up the proper items, make it so the men would not suspect a thing, they could _not_ be watching too closely or sense a threat coming or they would be on the alert and the single chance being presented to gather more information would be lost. From what had been seen, they were already so very tense and alert, they would be watching for even the smallest sign of danger when coming upon anyone else travelling the lands after having not seen another soul for a length of distance yet. And that would not do well. There was only one way to throw them off, to cast their gazes elsewhere for a time…

A smirk grew as an idea formed in the mind of just how best to proceed with the plan.

~8~

Aragorn chuckled softly to himself as he listened to the Hobbits nattering on about the best way to eat a biscuit and all the different jams that could be slathered on one and the different types of bread to make it from. To think that so many choices existed was difficult to comprehend though he would not put it past the Hobbits to be the ones to discover them all and then some.

"Legolas," he turned to the elf walking beside him at the head of their company, "Do your elf eyes see a river or stream near our path?"

Legolas narrowed his gaze into the distance, his lips pursing in concentration, "I fear not," he responded, "Yet I do hear the trickling of a stream nearby."

Aragorn followed his gaze to the left, frowning to himself as there didn't appear to be a river or stream on level with them, before he realized that was likely the cause for it. Perhaps the river was slightly down a hill or ledge, it would explain the lack of sight of it but the sounds of it still existing.

Aragorn nodded his thanks, turning to look over his shoulder at the others following behind, the Hobbits just a few paces away with Gandalf, Gimli trailing in the rear with Boromir, "We should stop and refresh the horse," he called to them, giving a small nod to 'Bill,' Samwise Gamgee's pony, "And fill our waterskins," he added with a look to Gimli and Boromir.

"We should keep on," Gandalf shook his head, "We make good time."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, "But the Hobbits are weary," he gestured at Merry and Pippin, the two more energetic young Halflings were near dragging their feet, it seemed that only their conversation about food was keeping the four Hobbits distracted enough to keep walking.

Gandalf sighed, looking at young Frodo, before he nodded, "See you a river near by?"

Aragorn smiled at that as Legolas stepped up to lead the way towards where the elf could hear the water rushing. He was ever thankful for the ears of the Elves, able to discern sounds too far for a mortal ear to pick up. They _were_ making very good time, it was true, but they still had very far to go and less time to see their quest complete in. There was no doubt that the minions of their enemy would be after them and all too soon given the precious treasure they carried with them, a treasure that the Dark Lord Sauron would stop at nothing to possess once more.

Time was truly pressing upon them to cover as much ground as they could, but whenever a river appeared, he wished for them to stop and gather as much water and strength as they could. Their journey would only be easy at the start and grow more fraught with dangers and threats as they went. What comfort he could provide the gentle Hobbits now to make their later troubles easier to bear he would do.

They had only just come within range of a rather large stream, just shy of being called a river, that allowed them all to hear its gurgling when Legolas stopped, a frown on his face.

" _Prestad?_ " Aragorn murmured to the elf, being sure to use a form of their language so as not to alarm or alert the others.

Legolas shook his head, indicating there was no danger ahead, or at least nothing concerning, "I hear something," the elf replied, "Something not of the stream."

Aragorn tensed, "Orcs?"

Again Legolas shook his head, "I cannot be certain," he looked at Aragorn, "It is…quiet," he supplied, "What may be beyond the path," he gestured towards the area ahead of them where he could make out a small ledge, one that likely led down to a stream, "There is not many of them."

Aragorn gave a cautious nod at that, stepping a few paces before the group as they continued on, his hand moving to his sword, his eyes and ears more alert should Legolas err in his judgment and a threat be upon them. He slowed as he neared the ledge, tilting his head as he observed something on the ground, lying in the scattered and fallen leaves a few feet away and down. There was a small ring of rocks, sticks and branches laid out within the middle, clearly someone preparing a fire of some sort, something made all the more obvious by a travel pack set up just beside a partially decayed log, nearly hidden on the other side of it, with what appeared to be a cloak bundled up beside that.

It appeared they had stumbled upon someone's camp.

He turned, about to signal to the others just that, when he too heard what Legolas must have, a distinct splashing that was not of the stream down below.

The ledge was not a cliff face, but more a hill that seemed to have been partially broken off in the middle. There was a gentle slope on either side that led to the stream's edge, something that would make the journey down for Bill easier, but the center seemed to have fallen away. He stood at the top of that ledge now, looking down at the small base of the stream's edge, his eyes going impossibly wide as he saw what had caused the noise.

And in his shock, he failed to signal the others to halt back and a quite undignified squeak escaped Pippin, causing the young woman washing her face at the stream to stiffen.

He could not make out much of her for her back was to them, nor could he see much of what she wore…which caused him to look away when his mind processed the fact that the young woman was not wearing a gown, more so…not wearing a proper shirt.

He could see the bottom of boots from where she was kneeling, her feet sticking out behind her. Her trousers were of dark color, an old, worn brown from the glimpse he had taken. Her arms were bear, her flesh white as milk, no…not that white. Her undershirt, sans sleeves, was more white than she was despite the fading of it with age, making her skin appear more peach than the pale white of a proper lady, which made it clear to all that gazed upon the lightly tanned skin that she was no stranger to the outdoors. That was what had caused him to look away, for she had her shirt, a scrap of olive green fabric resting beside her on a rock which meant she was quite indecent in attire at the moment. No, not indecent, there had been no one around her at the time, she thought herself in privacy, a privacy they had intruded upon.

He could not stop himself from glancing back when a flash of pale gold, a shade of pale straw, moving drew his attention. The woman had her hair over her shoulder, seeming to have been washing it as well and it moved now, shining in the sun, as she turned to look up at them.

"Oh!" she gasped, quickly grabbing her garment and holding it before her, thankfully blocking sight of her bosom even if it was hidden by her undershirt, her brown eyes were wide as she stared up at them.

"My apologies," Aragorn called down to her, his attention momentarily pulled to Pippin squeaking again when Merry slapped his hand over the lad's eyes as Pippin gaped at the woman, the other Hobbits and members of the company politely looking away, "We did not know a lady was present…"

"It…it is nothing," the woman tried to smile at them a moment, "If…you could?" she made a turning gesture with her hand and the men quickly turned around, allowing her a moment to slip her shirt over her head, "My thanks!" she called up to them, signaling that she was decent.

Aragorn turned back, intent to apologize once more, but the words died on his tongue. He had not expected the garment she dressed herself in to be equally as…revealing as her undershirt. There were no sleeves, the neckline dipping into the realm of indecent once more, fitted and tailored just to this woman. Just at the neckline, an inch or two above it hung a small necklace. It was black in color, rectangular, with a crude white animal carved into it in a shape resembling what might be a horse or large wolf, held fast to her neck by a worn piece of string that did not seem firm enough to hold such an object but managed. For as startled as he was by her choice of dress, he found his gaze pulled quickly away from the lone piece of jewelry she wore and to her face as she smiled warmly up at them. It was...not an expression he had been expecting from a woman caught in such a position by 9 men, he would have been more understanding of outrage or mortification, yet this woman merely swung her hair over her shoulder and started to plait it as she walked towards the side of the ledge.

"I do apologize," she continued, heading up the small hillside and towards them, "I did not hear you approaching else I would have ensured myself covered."

"Er…" Boromir spoke, "T'was no fault of yours, my lady," he assured her, seeming just as thrown as Aragorn felt at how easily she was dismissing the incident, "We were not as loud as, perhaps, we should have been when we stumbled upon your camp."

The woman nodded, "Then the fault lies on both sides," she smiled.

"We must apologize," Legolas insisted, "We intruded."

"Upon what?" the woman chuckled, seeming amused by them, she tied off the bottom of her plait with a bit of leather, lifting her arms to spin the plait behind her head and using the leftover length to tie the hair back into a small bun, "I own no land here nor have claim to any."

"Your privacy?" Gimli supplied.

"If I wanted privacy, Master Dwarf, I would have found a more secluded spot, no?" she reasoned, gesturing down at the ledge, before pointing further down the stream towards a more dense area, bushes stationed nearer to the water's edge, "I merely wished to wash my face and hair. T'was not as if you stumbled upon me truly bathing."

Aragorn felt his lip quirk up at how the Hobbits blushed red as tomatoes at that, all of them looking away at the mention of such a thing.

Gandalf chuckled openly at it, "You are a very understanding young woman," he remarked.

The woman shrugged, "I have lived many years in wood and mountain alike," she said simply, "Perhaps I have grown used to the lack of privacy found in such open spaces."

"We do apologize for having disturbed you," Aragorn spoke, "We merely wish to refill our water and refresh our horse."

"Then by all means," the woman opened her arm wide, "There is space enough and I have had my fill of the stream," she patted her hip where a waterskin of her own was hanging.

Aragorn nodded his thanks to her, moving to step past her, leading the company on to the edge of the ledge, to the less steep hill for Bill as the woman walked on to her camp. He looked back only when he heard a small gasp to see the woman trip on a root as Frodo passed her, nearly toppling the poor Halfling over as he reached out to try and steady her, though it was not much help. She fell to a knee, her hands coming to rest on his shoulder and chest, though she did not fall more than that.

"My thanks, Master Halfling…"

"Frodo," he introduced, "Frodo Baggins."

"Well, Frodo Baggins," the woman smiled at him, disarming him slightly, leaving him oblivious to the fact she had not given her name in return, "You are quite valiant."

"Oh," Frodo blushed, "No, no I just…you were falling. It is only polite to try and help."

"Well you do have my most sincere thanks," she leaned in and gave him a peck on his cheek for extra thanks before she stood, stepping back to allow him on, her hands moving behind her back as she watched them go. She gave Aragorn a smile of his own and a bow of her head which he returned, following the company down to the water's edge.

The woman's smile turned more into a smirk as their backs turned on her and she moved to her small makeshift camp, rummaging through her pack with one hand as the other clutched tight to what was likely a small treasure, listening to the quiet chatter down below by the river. She waited a few moments more, listening to see if they might speak more of their destination only to hear them speaking of rations and water for the pony, the time they were making but…no more about where they were heading as she had been hoping to do.

Frustrating they were.

"Might I ask," she called, attempting to make her voice sound as though she were absently asking, "Where it is you are travelling?"

The group fell deathly quiet at that, which only served to make her smirk grow more, knowing they couldn't see her from down below, not unless she drew nearer to the edge of the ledge.

"What makes you say we're travelling somewhere?" a very young sounding voice called, likely the younger of the Hobbits.

She straightened and moved closer to the ledge to peer down at them, "It is not often one sees a Dwarf and an Elf travel in the same group, especially with a wizard as a member of their company. One would think the destination important, no?"

"We are merely escorting these young Hobbits to…Erebor," Gandalf spoke though she could see his grip on his staff tightening.

"Erebor?" she sounded impressed, "Whatever would a Hobbit find in a Dwarven site?"

"My uncle journeyed there once," Frodo supplied, going along with Gandalf's tale, "He spoke of it so fondly I wished to see it for myself. My friends and I were lucky enough to find travel partners willing to help us on a safe journey."

"I see," she murmured, nodding slowly, "It is…odd though."

"What's so odd about that?" another Hobbit spoke up, the plumper of the four, sounding very much like he was taking offense to her words, that she was calling them or Frodo's journey odd.

"Peace," she held up a hand, already able to tell he was quite protective of Frodo, "I merely mean…you are heading in the wrong direction if you wish to travel to Erebor from Rivendell."

She could not contain her smirk even if she tried at the startled look on the faces of the men below her at her knowledge of where they had come from. She had not been lying when she said she lived among the wood and mountain, she had made it a personal quest of her own to see as much of Middle Earth as she could. She knew enough of the other lands and sites to know where Erebor was positioned in comparison to Rivendell.

She moved forward more, sitting down on the edge of the ledge, crossing one leg over the other and resting her hands on either side of her, "I do not mean you any harm," she added, noting how the wizard stepped closer to Frodo as though to protect him, "I merely wished to offer my assistance on your quest. I do believe I could be of some help."

"And why would we need YOUR help?" Boromir nearly sneered at her.

The woman raised a delicate eyebrow at his tone, "You shall need someone with my skills," she said simply.

"And what skills would those be?" Legolas asked, eyeing her warily.

She smirked and reached behind her, holding something up for them to see, something dangling on a chain…a ring…

Frodo gasped and grabbed at his neck, feeling his chest, patting himself down…only to realize that there was something quite important missing from his person.

The Ring.

It wasn't on him any longer no, instead…it was dangling from the woman's hand, she had THE Ring!

The men quickly pulled their weapons, even Gandalf aimed his staff at her, but she just rolled her eyes, "Go ahead and fire," she nearly taunted, "I ask but a simple thing. Your destination for this," she wiggled her hand, making the Ring sway from side to side, catching her eye in the glint of the sun, "I am certain your wizard could erase the knowledge from me if he so wished," she forced her gaze away to look back at them, "Tell me where you go, and I return it."

It was probably a foolish thing to do, to act so at east when the men were ready to war, when a bow was aimed at her, an arrow at the ready, swords and staff pointed at her, all ready to strike. But something inside her told her these were still good men. She should be dead by now if the elf were truly dark of heart. The men wanted no trouble, they didn't WANT to attack her. She had made sure to let them know she would return the necklace for information, she was hardly going to keep it from them, not when they could all easily take her. They had to sense that, that she truly was no threat to them. Why would they attack her when she had made no ill-intended move towards them? They were honorable men, she could see that clearly now, they would not attack unless she was literally attacking them.

Frodo looked between the two groups, fidgeting from foot to foot, seeing the stalemate for what it was. The girl wouldn't give the Ring back without being told their destination, the men wouldn't attack unless she tried to make off with it. And he really didn't want anyone to be harmed, not if he could stop it. And so he turned and looked her in the eye.

"Mordor."

Her breath caught in her throat at that single word.

Mordor.

The odd group of nine were on a quest to _Mordor_.

 _Why?_

Why would anyone wish to go…there? It was the darkest and most destitute area of Middle Earth! It was the homeland for the most deadly, dangerous, and dark of creatures. A journey of such a magnitude that a dwarf and elf would come together, that a wizard would take the lead, was a most troublesome one indeed, but this? This was not mere trouble, this was no mere danger, this was a path to inescapable death! Why would they be journeying there?

A glint in the corner of her eye pulled her gaze back to the chain in her hand, the token dangling from it. She looked at it intently, a small frown coming to her face as she almost appeared entranced with it, reaching up her other hand as though to touch the golden piece as though she couldn't help but do so, as though it were calling to her to touch it, to give in an hold the actual ring in her hand...

But then, something struck her, like puzzle pieces falling into place, and she swallowed hard, shaking her head firmly and tossing the chain away in a jerking motion, as though she were fighting herself not to keep hold of it. It fell right down to where Frodo stood, the chain of the necklace clinking as it landed before his feet.

She let out a shuddering breath at that, feeling a dreaded knowledge fill her as she watched the Halfling scramble to seize the chain and clutch the ring to his chest. A cold was washing over her, a bone deep chill that left her feeling sick and shaky, guilty and angry at the same time. A horrible realization settled over her as her questions were answered without any other words being spoken.

There was only one reason and one reason alone that could be an explanation for why a quest would be launched towards Mordor.

Sauron.

The Dark Lord of all things.

There were whispers she had heard in her travels of late, of something stirring in the dark of Mordor, even fainter were the lingering fears that Sauron would return. Not many put stock in it, not many believed this, not many _wanted_ to believe the greatest evil Middle Earth had faced would return in the coming days. Many wished to brush it off as a lingering fear of old. But she could not shake the feel in the air that seeped into the realms she traveled through, a darkness, a taint of magic, that was too dark to be anything other than Sauron's. It had been felt, it had existed, it had grown stronger before her own eyes.

She had felt it hanging from her hand only moments ago.

"You fall for tricks too easily," she remarked, her voice weak, "I only steal what I can sell," she added as she cleared her voice as it cracked slightly, sounding unsettled and shaken, sounding as though she were trying to play off how affected she was by the small piece of gold, to sound as though she hadn't been tempted at all to keep the Ring, as though she would have returned it without the information she'd demanded, "And that," she nodded to Frodo's hand, "Is evil. I want _nothing_ to do with it."

Aragorn blinked and stared at her, at the vehemence in her final words, at the utter loathing that filled them. He had never heard a woman speak with such disgust and hatred, and over the One Ring. That was… _different_. Most people failed to sense the evil of the One Ring, they only sensed the power but this woman…she'd just thrown it away, with struggle yes, but far more easily than he would have thought possible once the Ring was in their possession.

She turned her attention to Aragorn, seeing him lowering his sword and...hesitated to speak, "Why do you carry something so tainted?"

"We mean to destroy it," Aragorn replied.

She nodded, seeming only vaguely aware of his words. Feeling the evilness in that gold, knowing they aimed to destroy it, knowing it had to be infinitely important for a wizard to journey with them, for an elf and dwarf to put aside their distrust to band together to help? She swallowed hard as she observed Aragorn in her thoughts. She could feel it at the edge of her mind, the puzzle pieces, she could feel it deep in her soul that this journey they were taking, it was to rid Middle Earth of a danger and a darkness...

"You shall need help," she looked at the group before her, her decision made.

"We have all the help we require," Boromir gave her a hard look, though there was something distinctly...jealous in his gaze.

She put on a smirk, hoping it would appear as casual and easy as it had been before she'd felt the pull of that cursed Ring, "You are missing something," she argued lightly, still feeling shaken but doing her best to cover that up, she needed to appear strong now, stronger than she had appeared moments ago, "You are unbalanced," she eyed them, forcing the smirk into a smile that didn't quite seem real or recovered from her earlier words, "9 men? You _need_ a woman among you."

"We'd need _8_ others for balance," Gimli stated, turning his axe over in his hands, looking for all the world as though he were just waiting for the signal to attack her.

She laughed, feeling just the slightest bit more confident now, "I am easily worth 10."

Aragorn couldn't help but chuckle at that. The girl was young, about the same age Arwen appeared, but she was willful, perhaps a little arrogant if she truly felt she was worth that much. Though, he did get the impression she had said it more in jest, to lessen the tension that had gathered upon the realization she had stolen the Ring from Frodo. Looking at her more closely though, she appeared _strong_ as well, he could see it in her eyes, there was a hardness there, a life that had taught her much. She was sly and quick, she'd managed to sneak past ALL of them to get the Ring, perhaps she _could_ be something of an asset to them.

He wouldn't mind seeing what other tricks and skills she might have to her.

She turned her gaze to them once more, "I should very much like to help," she repeated, sounding truly sincere now, determined, "Four Halflings, an Elf, a Dwarf, a Wizard, a man, and a Ranger, all departing Rivendell together…with a Ring that feels of evil and power…it is either the beginnings of a truly deplorable jest or you are about to depart on a quest of legendary proportions. I think it is the latter," she hummed a moment, a sadness creeping into her voice, "I wish to help," she looked at them intently, "If you can find it in you to trust me, even after I have stolen from you, though I _did_ give what was stolen back..."

"Why do you want to help?" Frodo shook his head, it didn't make sense, if anyone else had found out where they were going, had held the ring and had such a terrifying reaction to it, they would surely be running as far from them as possible, "If you know where we are going, why would you wish to journey there as well?"

She was quiet a long while, considering his question, knowing her answer would likely be what defined if she would be allowed with them, "There is a darkness in this world, one that grows ever stronger with each new day. I have already seen one home fall to darkness, I should not wish to see the homes of others befall the same fate. If I could help stop it, then it matters not where you go or the dangers to face, should the darkness be defeated, it shall be worth it."

Frodo had a small smile on his face for that, hearing the truth in her words, sensing no falsehood from her. Her answer...it was too personal, it was too close to the heart to be a lie. It had nothing to do with glory or being on a 'quest of legendary proportions' or making some sort of heroic name for herself, no it was more than that. It was why he was going, to protect his friends and family, the Shire, and…and the Shires of others, their homes, their lives. He looked up at Gandalf to see that the wizard was looking down at him, as though waiting to see what HE decided.

"You are the Ring Bearer," Gandalf intoned solemnly, fearing Frodo's kind and trusting nature would get the best of him but knowing it was not HIS choice to make.

Frodo nodded softly, understanding that it truly was up to him, this was his quest, this was happening because of HIM, and it would be left to him to determine who was worthy of taking part.

"We could use a burglar on our quest," Frodo mused, before he smiled up at her, "But you never said your name."

"Menna," she murmured, thankful, "My name is Menna."

A/N: I can say that it was NOT easy at all for Menna to give the ring back to Frodo, just to stem off any remarks that she was unaffected by the Ring when she had it. There is a reason why she tossed it back to Frodo and why she is determined to take part in this quest which we'll see very soon. I can say, not everyone will be happy she's taken up with the Fellowship or very pleased with Frodo's decision ;)

I've heard the phrase '10th walker' in regards to stories that add an OC to LotR, all I can say is that Menna isn't truly a part of the Fellowship though they allow her to join them. She doesn't hold a loyalty to them or the quest in general, she swore no oath to Frodo, so not technically another 'walker' ;) There will actually come a time where she will want to turn away and walk away from the quest and nearly do so.

To help visualize Menna, I picture her to look something like Miranda Raison ;)


	2. Hills and Valleys

Hills and Valleys

Menna had a soft smile on her face as she rested back against the rather large rock upon which Gandalf was sitting, smoking his pipe. Her leg was crossed over the other, her arms crossed as well, the rock warm against the backs of her shoulders as she leaned. She couldn't help the fondness of the smile as she observed Boromir trying to teach the two Hobbits, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck she'd learned, how to use their rather small swords.

Well, she supposed they were small to her. To the Hobbits, however, they were quite a good sized weapon.

Pippin, as he preferred to be called, was the focus of Boromir's lesson at the moment, the Hobbit trying his best to keep up with Boromir's strikes. She shook her head gently as she watched them, Pippin had been one of the more open of the group to her joining in their quest. He was just a very sweet man, always happy, always hungry, but always polite and warm to her company. Merry seemed a tad more suspicious of her, something Boromir shared for he had agreed quite readily to teaching the two Hobbits ways to defend themselves should they be 'attacked' and had said as much with a very pointed look to her.

They wasn't the only one though. Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, and Gimli, Son of Gloin, as they had introduced themselves (not quite so for Legolas. He had been content to merely introduce himself as Legolas, Son of Thranduil, but Aragorn, in some sort of pointed action, had added on that he was a Prince of the Realm as well), were not quite so welcoming. Even the plumper of the Hobbits, Samwise Gamgee, was suspicious of her, polite with her for no other reason than his manners.

He still seemed to have taken offense to her remarks of how a quest to Erebor was 'odd.' That and he seemed very protective, almost overly so, of young Frodo Baggins. He was not a friend to her as she had managed to steal the Ring from Frodo who seemed to be its keeper. She had not been made aware of exactly what the ring was, why it was imbued with such dark power, she could guess, but she did not know for certain. She found she did not truly want to know either. The Ring itself was unsettling to be near, the less she truly knew about it, the better she would be. She did not want to force them to divulge more secrets to her, they had given their names most begrudgingly for their part. It seemed she was of the position to be told only what she needed to know and not all of what she wanted to know.

Oddly enough, despite her rather abysmal first impression, she did appear to have allies among the group as well.

Frodo himself was quite welcoming of her. He seemed almost relieved by her presence and she found herself speaking with him as they walked on quite frequently. It appeared he had taken her return of the Ring (and likely her reaction to it and offer of aid afterwards) as an indication that she would not try to forcibly take it from him again. Whatever it was that put him at ease with her, she was grateful for it. She could feel Legolas watching her whenever more eyes were available to be wary of their surroundings, as though waiting for her to change her mind and steal their weapons to sell somewhere else. Pippin had seemed to take Frodo's acceptance of her as permission to speak to her as well.

She had been quite surprised, though, when Aragorn had made efforts to include her in discussions, to check in on her as they sat down to eat their meager meals, that she had gotten her share. But, then again, Aragorn struck her as a man that took an enormous amount of responsibility upon himself, he seemed almost second as a leader to Gandalf. He likely felt responsible for her now that she had joined this merry band.

Gandalf, however, she was still trying to understand his opinion of her. In her profession, being able to read others was necessary, but Gandalf was harder to read than most. He wasn't openly hostile, but nor was he trusting. He seemed to think her name odd, once she had given it. The Hobbits had nodded, Gimli and Boromir did not seem to fully care, but she had noticed Legolas, Aragorn, and Gandalf had had a minor reaction to it, to a distinct lack of anything coming after it as well. Her name WAS, in truth, not one that inspired much trust in others, it was not a name usually given to a child but more one assigned to another, or chosen for oneself. And those who chose a name such a hers were rarely trustworthy individuals. The three of them seemed aware of what 'Menna' likely meant and it had put Legolas more on edge of her, had made Gandalf hesitant. She could see it, even in his kind blue eyes, that he was still on the cusp of being wary of her.

She truly did not blame them, stealing something so central to their quest right out from under their noses had NOT been the best way to introduce herself. It had proven her skills, of that there was no doubt, it had made her undoubtedly useful to them. But it had done nothing to inspire trust.

Even now, as she even leaned against the boulder Gandalf had perched upon, both Gimli and Legolas stood on either side of her, almost as guards, as though they were protecting Gandalf from her, watching her.

"Get away from the blade, Pippin," Boromir's voice called back to her, drawing her attention to the small spar going on before her, "On your toes...good, very good!" he praised as Pippin did as instructed, "I want you to react, not think."

"Should not be too hard."

Even from the other side of their small camp, where Sam had been cooking up food for Frodo, she could still hear the plump Hobbit's words, making her laugh lightly under her breath. It appeared Aragorn could hear the same though he chuckled louder.

"Move your feet!"

"Quite good, Pippin," Merry praised his cousin as Pippin managed to hold his own against Boromir's light attacks.

"Thanks!" Pippin practically beamed, stepping back so Boromir could continue to instruct his cousin as well.

"If anyone were to ask for my opinion," Gimli spoke from beside her, though she didn't look over, "Which, I note, they have not…"

"Nor has anyone mine," Menna quipped, a faint smirk on her face as Gimli grumbled something under his breath.

One would think her upset with the lack of trust, but to be true to her heart, she was not so. She knew the impression she had given, she knew her profession could inspire distrust just as her name would, it bothered her not if no one in the small Fellowship had trusted her fully, so long as she was able to assist their quest without much trouble. Gimli's muttered words about how they ought not ask for her opinion as they would not trust it to be honest did not come close to touching her. To be honest, she did not trust them either. She…could not find it in herself to manage it. The Hobbits were sweet, yes, Gandalf seemed kind, the other men were equally closed off. But she had not trusted anyone in a very long time, and those she had trusted at first had not treated her trust as kindly as they should have. There were but two in her life who had retained her trust but they were long gone from her. She had learned early on not to trust. It could be taken advantage of, used against you, broken far too easily.

No, it was better to trust no one but herself.

"If they HAD," Gimli continued, firm, "I would say we are taking the long way round," he gave Gandalf a pointed look, seeming to attempt lowering his voice, as though he did not wish her to hear him speaking…that or he did not wish Legolas to hear him either. His volume, however, did nothing for either the Elven prince's ears nor the fact that she was close enough to hear his poor whispers, "Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome!"

Menna, while she was sure she did not know the men around her well, knew the expression on Gandalf's face, he did not think that was a good idea at all.

"No, Gimli," Gandalf spoke his mind, "I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

"I agree," Menna spoke offhandedly.

"And what would YOU know of Moria?" Gimli shot her a dark look, taking her words as an insult to his people.

"Peace," she held up her hands, feeling as though she had done so a hundred times already, these men loved jumping to assumptions about her words, "A mine seems far more dangerous than a road," she offered.

In her travels she had encountered all manner of peoples, men, elves, even Dwarves here and there. The Hobbits and Wizards were her first encounter, but she had met the other species of Middle Earth. She knew the temperament of Dwarves and she was subtle in listening in to information to be gained in taverns. She heard whispers, the mines of Dwarves were safe enough…for Dwarves. Trying to imagine someone like Pippin exploring a mine? Even with an escort? With a guide? He was likely to fall down a shaft! She imagined there were many hidden dangers as well, the risk of cave-ins, accusations of theft, and truly, once a Dwarf caught even a whiff of a thief in their midst they were not the most welcoming. Which did explain Gimli's oh-so-warm welcome of her into their fellowship. But any dwarf in a mine would be more likely to banish her as a thief even if she had yet to steal from them, they would bar the doors against her and their entire group for harboring a thief.

"And," she continued, thoughtful, "A mine full of anyone, man or dwarf, means involving, perhaps endangering, more people than an empty road would."

"As I think," Gandalf cut in any more argument from Gimli, sending her a kind nod of his head, a small smile on his face for her support of his path.

"Ow!"

All their heads snapped over to Pippin who had cried out, to see him drop his sword, his hand stinging. Boromir seemed apologetic, stepping forward in concern…only for Pippin to launch a kick to his shin and lunge at him, succeeding in tackling him to the ground with the help of Merry. That earned quite a laugh from those present. However it faded quickly when Legolas dashed passed them, hopping onto a small rock and staring out into the distance at what appeared to be a dark cloud looming in the sky.

"What is that?" Sam frowned, the others gathering around to follow the elf's gaze.

"Nothing," Gimli scoffed, rolling his eyes at elven dramatics, "It's just a wisp of a cloud!"

"I do not think it is," Menna stared at the cloud, it was growing larger at an alarming pace.

Even Boromir agreed with her, a testament to the true danger encroaching upon them, "It's moving fast... _against_ the wind."

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas shouted.

"Hide!" Aragorn gave the order, already turning to grab whatever packs and weapons were near him to throw under bushes and stones, hiding them all from sight, the others hurrying to do the same.

"Merry, Pippin, Sam, take cover!" Boromir half grabbed Merry and Pippin, shoving them to the side to hide behind the larger stones, Sam rushing to put out the small cooking fire.

They scrambled for what cover they could find in the far too open space. But thankfully there were enough large stones and ledges and bushes to make do.

Menna grabbed her small pack, clutching it to her chest as she dove under a rock that was hanging over another, looking up with a soft gasp when she came face-to-face with Aragron, so close she could see the small flecks of grey in his blue eyes, vaguely able to make out Frodo hiding behind him as they pressed under the rock.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw his gaze flicker to the pack clutched to her chest, "Do not judge me," she muttered, knowing that all the others had thrown their belongings away to other crevices yet she had snatched her own to hide with her.

Aragorn gave her a half-shrug and shook his head, not saying a word. He expected as much from a thief, they stole from others and panicked over the thought of others stealing from them. Tossing her pack away would be tantamount to inviting others to steal her belongings, in her mind at least he thought. He merely held up a finger to his lips, looking up as the flapping of wings reached them.

They could see out, to a more distant portion of the sky just at the edge of the rock above them. There was a mass of black birds, crows or ravens, flying past them, too low to be natural. They hesitated in the area a moment, seeming to circle their location…before a loud squawk sounded and the birds turned and flew off, south. No one made a move for a long moment after, not till Legolas, with his elf eyes and ears, deemed it safe, was certain that the birds were far enough away to not see them, and crept out of his spot.

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf frowned, a hard expression on his face as he stared in the direction the birds had disappeared, the exact path he had planned to take them on, "The passage South is being watched," he murmured, more to himself than the others. He glanced back at Aragorn, then to Frodo, and off to a range of mountains in the distance, "We must take the pass of Caradhras!"

Gimli, of course, opened his mouth to argue with that, likely to stress that Moria would be a better alternative to their path, but Aragorn had already spoken, "Gather camp once more," he called to the others, "We rest here for the night and journey out at dawn's light."

"Would it not be wise to depart now?" Boromir inquired, frowning to the south, "They may return."

"They watch the south," Menna shook her head, seeming of the same thought as Aragorn, "They have searched here and found nothing, they would not return to check again what they already believe to be examined."

"Aye," Aragorn nodded, "They think we are making for the south, we are safer here for the night."

~8~

It was a somber mood that filled the small travelling group as they sat around the small fire Sam had reignited for dinner that night, small makeshift plates with small morsels in various stages of being eaten. Gandalf had enchanted the fire to be unnoticed in the dark, allowing it to be a bit larger than it would have been, it was a chilly night he had reasoned. Menna, however, suspected it was because of how fidgety Pippin had gotten as the light of the sun began to fade, how tense he'd grown, the frightened spark in his eyes as he stuck closer to Merry, clearly on edge. Whatever the reason was, the light was a welcome thing.

Menna couldn't help but snort in a quite unladylike manner when a conversation between Boromir and Merry turned into a playful argument.

"Have something to add?" Merry shot her a look, seeming more irritated than Boromir as her snort occurred on his words.

"Peace," she held up her hands, letting out an exasperated sigh at that, she should stop saying that by now, "I merely believe you are both wrong."

The all-too offended looks on both their faces was comical.

"A sword is a far better weapon than a dagger," Boromir defended his point.

"Oi!" Merry shot him a glare, "There's nothing wrong with my dagger," he held up the one he'd been practicing on earlier, "Pip and I proved smaller is better anyway!"

"THAT I do agree with," Menna chuckled lightly, "Smaller is certainly better," she turned at that, reaching into her pack, rummaging through it, a look of concentration growing on her face as she pulled out what looked like a rather bushy traveler's cloak, setting it aside in favor of what was hidden at the bottom of her pack. She smiled, turning to pull out a…knife.

"A knife?" Boromir lifted an eyebrow at that, "What, can your fragile womanhood not stand to eat with the hands?"

Menna's eyes narrowed at the remark and, with a careful flick of her wrist, the knife was soon embedded in a log Boromir had sat upon, the blade stuck firmly in the wood just between his knees. A little higher and…

Boromir seemed to catch that thought easily enough, nearly leaping back from the old, rotted wood, his hand already turning for his sword.

Only for the others to laugh.

He looked over at Aragorn, an expression of mock-betrayal on his face for the Ranger to laugh at his start.

Boromir glared at her, sliding his sword back into its sheath before leaning forward to grab the knife's handle, yanking firmly to pull it from the bark. He frowned, when he got a better look at the blade, "This is from a tavern."

Menna gave him an obvious look, "Where else was I to find one?"

"Any smith worth his forge could make a fine set of throwing knives," Gimly stated, not even speaking of strictly dwarven forges but any forge at all.

Menna shot the same look to Gimli now, "I steal what I can sell," she reminded him, "I sell to survive. I would not waste precious coin on forge-made knives when I can find them free enough in taverns."

And it was a simple task, really. Step into a tavern for a pint of ale, stick to the back, to the shadows, wait long enough and someone would start a brawl. Once the fighting had drawn attention, make out with a knife or two. The only challenge of it was sorting through the ones that were rubbish and the ones that were worth keeping and then learning to throw each of them. They were mismatched, they all were different sizes and sharpness and weight, but she had nothing but time in her travels. Often she would spend hours sitting at her campfire or lounging by a stream, just…throwing her knives at a tree or stump. She had no set path she traveled on, no destination in mind, no rush to get anywhere. She stole for food or cloth, for coin to afford it in the winter, it left her with heedless amounts of time to do whatever she pleased. She had gotten quite good at making do with what she had.

"Barter that," Gimli nodded at her necklace, his Dwarven eye seeing some sort of value even in the crudeness of it.

Menna's hand came up almost without thought to touch the pendent around her neck and snorted, "This I would trade for nothing," she told the Dwarf, "This is the best prize I have _ever_ managed to steal," she grinned, proud, "Nicked it off a princess of Rohan."

"So you would rather starve in the winter or be caught defenseless than give up a token of your pride?" Boromir scoffed at that.

"It is a token of my _skill_ ," she argued, "I clearly have yet to starve," she stood, not-quite-marching over to him and holding out her hand, "And I am by no means defenseless."

Boromir huffed at that and slapped the knife back onto her hand.

"That is quite some skill," Aragorn commented as she sat back down on her place on the ground next to Pippin, to his own left, "It could not have been easy to learn," he glanced at her pack, seeing just how many knives she had hidden at the bottom, "Nor to learn the feel of so many."

She shrugged, not looking at him for the praise, "I have nothing but time, patience, and steady hands."

"Miss Menna?" Pippin asked, making her look over at him, "Could…would you teach me?" she blinked at him, "How to throw the knives?"

"I thought you were enjoying your lessons with Boromir?" she inquired, not exactly wanting to cause more strain among the group.

"It's fun, yeah," Pippin nodded, "But…I'm small," he shrugged, and he was the smallest of the group, "The knives are smaller than the daggers. So it's got to be easier to use, yeah? And, that way, I don't have to get quite so close to the pointy end of another sword."

Menna smiled at that, "Aye," she nodded, "It would be best to wait for more light though."

"Ah yes," Gandalf smiled, slapping his knees as he stood, "The light has faded fast enough, and we must make an early start," it was an unspoken order to turn in for the night, to rest, one which the others immediately set to, starting to put their bedrolls out, "I shall take first watch," Gandalf offered, "Menna," he turned to her, "If you would be so kind as to give some company to an old man?"

"Of course," Menna was surprised by the request, but did her best not to show it. She could tell in how the others of the group, those less inclined to accept her presence among their fellowship, stiffened at the thought of her being on watch with Gandalf.

It had not escaped her that she had yet to be left on watch. This was the first time any of them had declared her to be taking part in them, despite her subtle ways of asking about being able to take watch a time or two. There was that trust and lack of it again.

But no one would dare argue with Gandalf. The man was a powerful wizard, and even with her stash of knives and tricky sleight of hand, she wouldn't be able to sneak anything past the man either, especially not with his guard up against her tricks now. They trusted Gandalf and they would not go against his wishes. And so the others made quick work of disposing of what little they hadn't eaten (or given to the Hobbits to eat) and settling down for the night.

She very much doubted Legolas would actually sleep, what little she knew of elves painted them as rather alert beings, hardly ever needing sleep. But even Legolas seemed weary after the travel they had done and the time they had made and the fact that he had often been the one keeping watch for much longer hours of the night. He laid down, though, from what she could see, he did not close his eyes.

Menna looked over at Gandalf as the wizard seemed to be waiting till everyone had stilled and found their places to rest, before he nodded his head and turned to head back to the rock he had sat upon earlier. It was a good distance away from the small camp. They had discovered that lower on the hill were more rocks under which they could hide if they were spotted once more by any spies of sinister wizards. It was not quite so far away for Legolas to be unable to hear them, however it would do to keep the curious ears of Hobbits, Dwarves, and Men from overhearing too much.

Clearly Gandalf had something he wished to speak with her about, there was no other reason she could fathom for why he would wish to keep watch with her instead of someone more useful or trusted. She doubted, as it was, that Gimli or Boromir would succumb to sleep even with Gandalf as her partner in the watch. The two of them had seemed to take her theft of the Ring far more seriously than the others had.

She waited patiently as Gandalf ambled onto the rock, sitting down with a small flourish of his travelling robes, his pipe still clutched in his hand. He looked down at her, an eyebrow lifting as though in question of what she was still doing just standing there. He went so far as to pat the rock beside him when she hesitated to move closer. Carefully and cautiously she made her way up the other side of the rock, gingerly sitting down beside Gandalf.

The wizard was silent a long while, looking up at the moon as he blew a smoke ring towards it, the wisps lingering longer than normal as they circled the glowing orb.

He let out a soft chuckle under his breath when he felt her shifting beside him, "No need to be so skittish, my dear."

Menna glanced at him for that remark, almost seeming insulted by the word, "I am by no means _skittish_."

His chuckle grew louder, "As you wish," he conceded, as though he hadn't noticed the complete distrust and hesitation she had displayed just in moving to sit beside him.

He let out another puff of smoke to fit inside the first ring, just a little smaller, before turning to offer her his pipe but she shook her head at it, causing him to shrug and make a third ring within the first two. He pretended he had not noticed her watching him intently as he let one final breath of smoke out, taking the form of an arrow and flying gently through the sky to embed in the makeshift target he'd made out of the former smoke rings. He looked at her, grinning, expecting a smile on her face, delight, for his trick…only to see her wariness had seemed to increase at the display.

"You do not appreciate the majesty of a wizard's craft?" he inquired.

Menna cast an odd look at him, as though she was doubting he had actually asked her that, her eyes searching his for an indication of…something he couldn't quite name. It looked quite a good deal like suspicion though, "I am not fond of the magical arts, no."

"And yet you travel with a wizard on a quest to dispose of a magical artifact," he mused.

The suspicion cleared in her eyes, the expression being replaced with one that looked of expectations being met, "I do."

He hummed to himself, "You are not very open with your intentions nor your thoughts."

"I have learned it is best not to reveal too much to anyone," she looked away from him, back to the moon now that the smoke had cleared.

"Tis a sad lesson to learn," Gandalf sighed, actually sounding sorrowful for that.

She was silent a moment longer before turning to him, "Are we truly going to speak of magic tricks and lessons learned?" she eyed him, "You would have been better served to ask that in daylight, with others around. A private conversation in the dark of night is reserved for far more delicate secrets, is it not?"

"Blunt," he eyed her closely, "You are quite the odd mix. You speak your mind yet keep your thoughts quiet."

She let out an almost huffing breath, "I have said all I have to say about the matter of this quest. I wish to help, simple as that."

His gaze turned more examining, as though he were trying to read her mind through her eyes alone, "There is more to it than that," he disagreed, "There are not many who would join a quest involving a magic ring they are already ill at ease around. Fewer still who would venture to Mordor just to see it destroyed. You have a reason," he observed, "More than you admit, for wishing to take part."

Menna swallowed hard and looked away, as if it would protect her thoughts from his inquisitive gaze, "My reasons are my own."

He nodded, gazing at the moon once more, "I only wish to know if your intentions are as pure as you would have Frodo believe."

Menna closed her eyes at that, not wishing to say anything more. Her reasons were truly her own, so long as she did not rob them blind in the night or make off with the Ring, two things she had little intention of doing, why could it not be enough?

She knew why though. It was foolish of her to know the fellowship did not trust her fully and yet expect them to take her word for what it was. And Gandalf was right, a quest of such proportions was littered with danger and it would only get infinitely worse as their journey went on. She had made no such oath as the others had, as Pippin had regaled to her about a meeting in Rivendell and how he had expertly snuck into it and been allowed into the Fellowship. She had not been invited as a trusted guest to take part in the quest. She did not even know the entirety of it, there was so much she still did not know. She had no reason to join them, there was literally nothing in Middle Earth that any other soul could reason for why someone that had no need to travel this dark road or take part in such a daring quest would do so. The reason she had given Frodo was weak at best, but it WAS the truth. The darkness was growing and anything that could be done to weaken it was well worth it.

Gandalf apparently did not believe anyone was so selfless as to take part in a quest for that reason alone.

Perhaps he was right.

"What do my intentions matter?" she countered after a long bout of silence, "No one would trust me to be alone with Frodo after I lifted that ring from him. No one would trust my intentions regardless if they were true and sincere."

Gandalf had to nod his agreement at that, seeing an opening to truly bring up something that had been sitting ill at ease with him since she had introduced herself, "Your name as well does not inspire much faith."

She nearly snorted at that, thinking about Legolas and Aragorn's reaction to her name, how they seemed to pick up on what was wrong with it, why it was different, why it made Legolas so against letting her out of sight or suspicion, "Please, enlighten me of something I am not already firmly aware of."

"Why choose it then?" he inquired lightly, knowing it was far more likely she had chosen it herself instead of been assigned it as most others would be.

"My home fell to darkness," she answered, repeating what she had told Frodo earlier, not even realizing that she had unintentionally affirmed Gandalf's guess of having chosen her name instead of being labelled with it, "I had nothing left but my name," she bit down the words that wanted to come out, the memory of her home, the name she had once had, how little she deserved to keep it, and settled for another justification for forsaking it, "There was no point to keep that when I had nothing else."

Gandalf could feel his eyebrows raise at that reasoning, not many would choose a name such as 'Menna,' not knowing the stigma a name like that held in the realms.

"A name is just a name," she continued, "Who I am now is not who I was then. I am Menna."

Gandalf felt his heart tighten to hear that though. Menna, it had no meaning. It was not a name that was affixed to anyone. Just as anyone would introduce themselves with a surname or their lineage or their title when introduced, to have nothing like that at all, no meaning, to have no association to anyone, it roughly translated to the person being 'Nameless.' There were other variants of it, other words and names that meant the same, empty names. They were more forced names given to those cast out of kingdoms or families for the worst crimes, usually only bestowed upon those that had higher standing among the people, those whose namesake meant more than anything. Often it would be used if the last of a noble line committed a heinous or treasonous act. It was a punishment, meant to end the bloodline, to make the offender literally 'Nameless.' They lost their family line, their heritage, they were cast out and banished with nothing left, not even their name.

But this girl…she was _too young_ to have done something so horrible as to earn such a fate. She would have had to be living among the wood and mountain for many years, likely having been just a _child_ when she began, for her to have the skills and comfort she held now. Which means she was not cast out…but no one would truly CHOOSE to be nameless just because they lost a home, there was something much more to it. You were given a name such as that when you were banished, when you had done something that stripped you of your honor and deserving.

A child could do nothing of such a magnitude.

Whatever reason Menna chose to say was the cause of her taking on such a name, it was not because she merely chose it on a whim from losing a home. It was a penance of sorts, something she felt she deserved. And it made his heart constrict even more painfully to imagine the girl beside him as a child, feeling such overwhelming self-loathing and guilt over something that she felt the need to cast her name away and accept the stigma of being nameless instead.

He swallowed any words he had about that down as he saw the expression on her face, guarded and closed off, offering nothing about her true feelings on the subject. He could not even tell if she realized he had worked out all he had from just her words. Truly, to anyone else, her answer would be enough. But he saw more in it, he saw more reason behind it, something he doubted she wanted anyone to be able to guess from her. Her age when she chose it, the true reason behind it. He could understand now her desire not to speak of it, it was a very personal and delicate matter, he did not blame her for her hostilities about her name.

"I suppose," was all he could offer instead, "I myself have many names. Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir, Incanus…" he sighed fondly as he thought on them, "A name does not define us," he added gently.

"Then my name should not be the deciding factor upon whether a trust is built or not," Menna remarked, skillfully directing his words back to him, cutting through any excuse he might have had not to trust her just for her name.

He let out a light laugh at that, she was certainly a clever one to catch even him in a trap like that, "Perhaps you are right," he set his pipe down beside him and looked at her, "Then put peace in an old man's mind, let him know a Hobbit dear to his heart is in safer hands than others may fear."

Menna turned to stare him right in the eye, "I mean no harm to Frodo nor any other of your Fellowship," she told him, swore to him, "Nor do I intend, plan, or shall attempt, to steal the Ring from Frodo ever again," she forced a small smile, the situation feeling far too serious to her, and placed a hand on her heart, "On my honor as a burglar."

Gandalf just let out a loud burst of laughter at that.

A/N: Not much action here just yet, but I wanted to establish a bit of her differing relationships with the group and their look on her. Not all of them are going to be happy she's there, not all of them are going to trust her or like her. She definitely did not make a good first impression with what she did lol ;) I can also say that HOW she was able to get the ring will be explained in detail as Hobbits (Frodo) are quite curious about that little event, her profession definitely taught her a thing or two about sneaky tricks lol :)

I also hope it's not too much of an issue my little addition of 'nameless' names? In Medieval history there are accounts of nobles being found guilty of treason and having their lands, titles, and lineage basically stripped from them and banished. So I took a small note from that and adapted it to Tolkien, adding more to it in that, once banished and stripped of their family name, they are also stripped of their actual names as well. You can't say 'Gimli son of Gloin' if your lineage is stripped from you as, in that case, you have no father any longer and you wouldn't be 'Gimli' anymore either because he's the son of Gloin and if you have no family you have no name, sort of thing. Your own family could cut you out of the tree as well if it 'brought shame' upon the family or something, disowning them in a way. So I figured that might be an indicator for being introduced as just a single name, with no surname or family or title to tack on. It won't play a big thing outside of the scope that it has a stigma to it that makes people trust you less because 'what did you DO that got your NAME stripped from you?' sort of thing. So it's nothing major, it won't affect the world of Tolkien, it won't affect the quest, or anything else, it's more a matter of trust.

I can say there IS a reason Menna actually CHOSE to cut off her given name and become nameless, it may take a while to get to, but we'll find out eventually ;)

Also, Menna's knives, just to stem off any concerns that she's some uber-warrior just because she threw a knife at Boromir. She's not, she's definitely not. Like to the point I laugh when I think about a particular scene in an upcoming chapter :) She knows what weapon she is skilled at and she's really not had the means to afford any real weapons either. She makes do with what she has and what she can get her hands on easily, knives. And she literally has no plan for her life or schedule so if she ends up lounging around a forest and decides to spend 10 straight hours or 20 minutes throwing knives at a tree she will ;) And that's also to say she's not an experienced warrior either, she's not a trained soldier. We have yet to see what she might be like in an actual battle ;)

And can I just say, you guys! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the story so far! I literally squealed a little when I saw that the story had gotten over 100 alerts on just the first chapter! :') I love you all so much!

Some notes on reviews...

I have no idea where I find the names lol :) Sometimes it's a play on words, like Kata because she likes cats, or it could be the meaning of the name, like Cora means heart and she's empathic. Sometimes it's also me sounding out words like Donna (Jenny-rated) and thinking of fun ways to spell it. Like Marayna, did start off as Maria but with me thinking Maria would be the name people mistake it as and what sounds similar to it :)

Arwen will be mentioned in the story, she may appear a time or two. It will be similar to the movie in how, just before Aragorn leaves Rivendell he tells Arwen that they can't be together, that what they have is a dream. He's leaving trying to convince himself that it really is for the best, that Arwen is better off with her people than him, keeping the necklace because he still loves her. But as he goes on, things will happen that will make him slowly open up to the idea that Arwen really IS better off with her people than him. So right now he's at the stage of trying to convince himself it's for the best how they parted ;)

I understand :) I'm trying to replicate both the language of the movie with some of the older-fashioned speech of the books but I'll work on that :) And I agree, it's a little confusing at first. It's mostly because it's from Menna's point of view, what she thinks the group feels compared to what they might actually notice of her as it goes on :) But I'll keep an eye on that as I edit, thank you! :)

I'm glad you like Menna so far :) In my head I pronounce her name as 'Men-ah' :) I'm very excited to see how Aragorn might fall in love with her too. I can say, their first few real conversations is full of insult (on both sides) so it's very interesting to watch them bond after that :)

Thank you! I'm glad you liked the first chapter :) I can say we'll actually get a step-by-step for how Menna stole the ring in an upcoming chapter. There's nothing like Hobbit curiosity to get answers ;)

Aww thank you so much! That really means a lot to me to hear :') I'm really glad you're enjoying the stories and the OCs so far :D And I wish you the absolute best of luck when you (eventually, because you are awesome) write AND finish a story! I'm sure it will be amazing! :)

Oh the men are definitely suspicious ;) Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir are the worst of the bunch though lol :) Merry and Sam are a little more polite in their suspicions but not by much. And Aragorn and Gandalf are suspicious too but trying to be a little kinder for varying reasons. I can say the last two have more of an understanding about Menna's name and are of the opinion something happened to her at a young age and she's had a hard life since then to resort to stealing for survival, but that she's actually offered to help destroy the ring and risk her life so maybe there's SOMETHING about her that should be reconsidered. Frodo and Pippin are just too sweet for their own good lol :) But yup, they are definitely suspicious of her and will not trust her easily for quite a while. She has a ways to go to prove herself to them ;) Menna is also part of the race of Men :) Not an elf, Hobbit, or dwarf or any combination of them with human ;) We will find out more about the family she might have had and the home she lost but way down the line, it's a very no-no topic for her at the moment :(

Not quite Isolde, lol, Tristan would have something to say bout that ;) But the actress who plays her is very close to how I picture Menna to appear in my head so I thought I'd offer it to help visualize how I see Menna while reading ;)


	3. Snow and Ice

Snow and Ice

If there was one thing Menna had learned in all her years among wood and stone, it was that the winters of Middle Earth could be harsh, extreme, and deadly. The mountains, caked with the whitest snow, were no different. The temperature alone, the fact it was so cold that snow did not melt away from the rock, was enough to worry her. Even more so was her concern for the small Hobbits, for their bare feet in the frigid mounds beneath them. For as much as she knew they were grown men, adults among their own people, they still looked as small as children and it was difficult not to see them as such when their cloaks were drawn around them and their backs were to her as they followed Gandalf ahead of her.

She was near the rear of their travelling line, with only Aragorn behind her.

She had thought it odd, for all of a moment, when the line formed as it had. She had been certain that no one, especially not Boromir and Gimli, would be comfortable with her travelling at their backs, able to do any number of things to them while they were unaware and unable to see her. But then she realized it was likely to do with the fact that, if she were far enough behind, perhaps she would well and truly fall behind enough. If they were fast enough they could leave her alone.

They clearly did not take her words of being worth 10 women to heart if they thought she would fall behind so easily.

Granted, she had. Lagged, that is.

For all that she expected the men to have difficulties travelling up a snowy mountain, what with their bulk and weapons to carry with them, she found herself moving slower than she would have thought. But Aragorn, for some reason unknown to her, had made his own movements slower to match hers, keeping himself firmly behind her. It could very well have been a ploy, a plan to keep her within sight so that she would not 'attack' the others with their backs to her. But she did not feel that from him. Aragorn had given her no indication of questioning her trust as much as the other man in the group had. He was wary of her, in his own way she was sure, but she felt no ill will or malicious intent from his actions. It felt more like he was keeping her in sight should she stumble, that it was his way of ensuring she kept with the group, than that he thought her about to do anything nefarious.

Whatever the reason, she was glad of it. It pushed her to keep up, to walk faster, to the point where had kept a firm pace the last stretch they'd made. It wasn't that she was tired, no, she had far fewer weapons than the men, and she didn't often keep watch for all their distrust of her. She was much more refreshed than any of those ahead of her, she was slimmer, quicker on her feet as well, she should have easily kept up.

It was her blasted cloak that was doing her in.

With the changing of seasons, she had learned very early on just how harsh the winters could be. She had nearly died from the cold in her earlier days. It had been a terrible and terrifying lesson to learn, a truly trying time in her life where she had never known a greater fear of freezing to death nor a greater pain than that of an empty belly. For all her words to Boromir that she had yet to starve and that she was not as defenseless as he thought her, she had been at one time. She had been weak, she had been starved, and she had been without weapon to guard herself. She had been alone and cold and hungry and...scared. All it had served to do was teach her, force her to adapt even when she wished she did not have to, when she wasn't prepared to do so. The life she had chosen had given her wisdom, learned in the hardest manner, of what to expect out of such a life.

She had been naive when she first set out in this life, her life before that being more sheltered, having ill prepared her for the realities of what lay in the wild, of what it took just to survive. That first winter had shown her what the world was, what the people in it were capable of doing, but also of what she was willing to do to live on. Once the snows had melted and the land thawed, she had worked harder than she ever had in her entire life, had honed her skill enough to steal enough to acquire the one thing she knew she needed to survive the winter.

A cloak, lined with thick fur.

If the first year of cold had taught her anything, it was how long one could last without proper food, weeks really. But also how little one could last in such frigid conditions. She had spent the next seasons after that collecting and gathering and stealing and doing all she could till she had saved up enough to purchase and barter for the cloak she still wore now. She had still been learning, even then, had still been too conditioned to her life before, to the manners and courtesies that others operated on.

She had wanted to BUY the cloak, to make a proper purchase, because she had thought that was right and necessary, despite the means she had used to gather enough coin for it.

It had taken her a while to grow accustomed to the life of a thief. It was not something that came natural to her. Oh she had nicked a possession or two here and there as she grew, but in a familial, childish way, to tease and annoy, always to be returned. It in no way made her the master thief she was today. No. She struggled to pick pockets, she had been caught more times than she cared to remember. She had struggled and stolen and saved her precious coin.

And for what? A cloak she could have just as well stolen instead and saved her money for food or shelter at an inn when the winter snow grew too unbearable.

She had been young then, too moral. She had bought the cloak instead of stolen it. Time had taught her though, taught her that she could still more than just scraps of food or a bit of coin off a tavern table. She learned from that, wasted no coin on anything so large after. She grew her skills, her cautious eye, her patience. She had learned to do as she pleased, that one did not need to always purchase items, that just as easily as she nicked a coin or two she could too steal something more.

But for all her folly in actually purchasing the cloak, it HAD served her well and long, had kept her alive to reach the point she was at now. It had lasted her many years for she kept it well maintained, she had to. It was all she had to keep her well in the winter, that and the learned skill of building a fire as well as a small tonic composed of dried Kingsfoil she took in heated water to keep her health up. Only those three things had kept her alive through the winters.

The cloak could be bothersome, as it was proving itself to be now.

It was infuriatingly long.

When she had first managed to have it made, she had insisted it be longer than she was at the time. She had thought to grow into it, not wanting to have to scramble and save to purchase another. It had been clever, at the time, the extra length had given her more layers when used as a blanket. As she grew older, grew into it, the cloak had been nearly the perfect length for her…if she kept her posture straight and shoulders back that was. It just barely brushed the ground, her boots just peeking out from the bottom of it.

It did not help going uphill though.

Going uphill meant that the bottom of the cloak was constantly getting caught under her feet and she found herself stepping on it. And she didn't want to just hike up a part of it, not around the others. They were all maneuvering well enough, she didn't want to be seen as though she couldn't handle walking up a mountain, even if it was the cloak. Even less did she want them to question her about her cloak or why it was the slightest bit ill fitting. All it would do was lead back to questions about her and she would rather not be the focus of their attention again.

She wasn't sure if she felt better or worse to realize she wasn't the only one struggling to climb up the mountain when Frodo slipped and fell backwards, rolling down the mountain just a few feet till he stumbled into Aragorn's arms just as she herself had reached out to try and slow him, managing to grab hold of his arm while Aragorn gathered the rest of him. The two of them quickly helped Frodo stand, Menna brushing the lingering snow off of the Halfling.

Frodo put a hand to his chest, panting a bit from his fall, his heart pounding against his ribs at the fright of it…when he realized something was missing. A quick glance up at Menna who was busy brushing the snow off his shoulders with BOTH hands, showed him that the sudden disappearance of the Ring from his neck was _not_ her work. This time at least.

He looked over to where he'd been standing only to see the Ring lying on top of the snow a good few feet away, sparkling in the bright sun.

He had only taken a single step forward, when it was lifted from the bank, dangling from its chain…in Boromir's hand.

Menna frowned when she saw Aragorn's hand come to rest on the hilt of his sword and turned, her lips thinning into a hard line as she watched the look that came upon Boromir's face, the man's gaze locked on the Ring, enthralled by the shine of it.

"Boromir?" Aragorn called cautiously.

But not even the call of one of his leaders could draw his attention from the dangling gold circle, "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," Boromir mused, his voice growing softer and softer as he stared more intently at the ring, "Such a little thing."

Menna swallowed hard, seeing Boromir's other hand slowly reaching up as though to caress the ring, "Boromir!" she snapped, her voice harsh and cutting, louder than she intended but she could feel her heart racing, recognizing something inside him, and fearing something else she saw.

"Give the ring to Frodo," Aragorn ordered quietly when Boromir's gaze snapped away from the ring and over to them at Menna's sharp tone, his own grip on his sword tightening as he saw Boromir hesitate.

A moment later though, a smile made its way onto his face, a smile that made Menna's skin crawl at how…calm it appeared, "As you wish," the man murmured, a forced lightness in his tone, before he stepped closer, almost appearing as though he were staggering, struggling to move towards Frodo but unaware of it, "I care not," he held the ring out to Frodo who quickly snatched it from his hand. Boromir just offered him a smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair, before he turned and made his way back up the mountain without another glance.

Menna glanced down at Aragorn's hand as it loosened its grip from his sword and squeezed Frodo's shoulder she was still holding, "Go on, Frodo," she murmured, nudging him on, up the mountain before her and Aragorn. She reached out a quick hand to grab Aragorn by the arm when he tried to follow, stilling him, not through the power of her grip or any strength of her own but his own choice to pause at her action, "You ought keep a wary eye on Boromir," she spoke quietly to him, her gaze flickering to the others as they continued on.

Aragorn frowned at her for her words, "Boromir was not the one to take the Ring from Frodo," he reminded her, pulling his arm away from her.

Menna's jaw tensed at the reminder, "I returned it."

"Just as he did," he countered, turning to walk on.

Menna's eyes narrowed, "Not easily," she called softly, making sure to keep beside him even as they lagged behind the others.

"Nor was it for you."

"I did not need someone to _tell_ me to return it," Menna countered, feeling almost insulted by his words, that he was so easily casting off her concern.

She knew she wasn't seen as entirely trustworthy by the others, but she had thought Aragorn, at the very least, would heed her words and at least take them to heart even in a small way. But he seemed to be waving it off, it was infuriating because she could not help but feel like what she saw in Boromir needed to be watched by others as well, it needed to be seen by Aragorn. None of the others would believe her if she expressed her fears to them, but they would if it came from Aragorn.

"Aragorn," she huffed, staring at him a moment, her expression growing hard, "You think it easy, returning the Ring to Frodo? You've no idea how strong the pull of that power is. All you know, as do the others, was that I was tempted by it," she shook her head, "But I _had it_ , in my hands, I _possessed_ it and it was _mine_ and I could have left with none of you the wiser for it. I _wanted_ to. Yet I returned it, without command. Of my own will."

Aragorn glanced at her as they walked, "You think Boromir would not have."

"No."

"Then how did you?" he couldn't help but look upon her as he spoke.

He could admit it, he had seen the change in Boromir, he had seen the difference between how Menna looked at the Ring to how Boromir did. Even their reactions afterwards, after returning it to Frodo spoke leagues to his careful eye. Menna had been horrified, shaken even, startled and scared at how the Ring had affected her, disgusted. Boromir…he had appeared more disappointed he had to give it away, reluctant, too forced in his careless tone. It appeared that was something Menna had noticed as well, she saw the pull the Ring had had on her in Boromir, but she too had seen how different a manner they had returned the Ring in.

He would not lie and say he did not fear what his own reaction would be if he had opportunity to have hold of the Ring of Power. He had expressed his fears to but one and been reassured that the weakness of his ancestors was not a weakness he possessed as well. It was difficult to believe, to have faith, that he would return the Ring if he'd had it in his possession. Two already had been given that same opportunity. One had only reluctantly parted with it, the other could not cast it aside fast enough. He needed to know, he needed to know what she had done, what strength she had to have in her soul that had allowed her to part with the Ring without compulsion or order to force her hand. He had seen it in her words, her posture, when she had taken the Ring, she had not truly believed they would attack her for it, she had been in no danger, in her mind, she had no reason to return it to them. She HAD had it before they'd even realized she'd taken it, she could have escaped, but she remained, intending to return it. HOW? How had this woman been able to muster the will to do so when he feared he would not.

He looked to her now, for guidance, for strength. She gave the Ring back, that was all he wanted to be able to do if the test ever came to him. Words spoken of his strength by one too close to him could not assuage him. To be as close as his reassurer had been could blind them to the truth, make them see a strength they wished to see, make them hope he would not fall to that temptation for fear of him. They could be kind words, words hoped for but not fully believed. He needed to hear what it was like from someone that HAD been tempted and given it back, someone that did not know his fears or feel that close to him. He needed to know how Menna had done it. Boromir was the closest he could call to kith and kin on this quest, a man of his city, a warrior, a human, and Boromir had been tempted, had nearly not released the Ring back to Frodo. If Boromir could succumb to that, why not fear he himself would as well? Even more so given his bloodline?

But if Menna could return it, this woman, nameless and without a home, not a hardened warrior but something softer, something more prone to theft by mere nature...if she could return it, perhaps HE could too. He saw hope for himself in her. He saw a strength to be admired as well.

Menna was silent a long while, looking away from him as they walked on, "It stirred ill-gotten memories I had hoped long since buried," she spoke quietly, staring down at the snow instead of anything else, "I have felt poison such as that in which the Ring is steeped. I have _no_ desire to subject myself to that ever again."

Aragorn opened his mouth to inquire more about what she had said, but Menna quickly picked up her pace, putting herself ahead of him, closer to the group so he could not voice a word.

~8~

If Menna thought it difficult to maneuver up a mountain in a cloak that caught her foot with almost every step, it was nothing compared to trying to maneuver up a mountain with four Halflings hidden under said cloak.

Once they had reached the Pass of Caradhras, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. The wind was biting and strong, the snow was falling heavily, the path was completely blocked by mounds of white that made it difficult just to walk. Gandalf, Gimli, and Boromir were ahead, trying to push the snow away to carve a path, Aragorn bringing up the rear to ensure none of them slipped or fell back down the mountain again, while Legolas, the elf that he was, walked above the snow, keeping watch ahead for any worsening conditions.

Menna gasped as she shuffled forward after the trio ahead of her, slow going with the four bodies huddled against her, nearly cuddling close as they tried to all fit under her furred cloak. She bit her lip as she felt something and stilled at _where_ she'd felt it, "Whoever's hand that is had best remove it," she warned, "NOW."

"Sorry!" came Pippin's squeaked shout, muffled though it was through the cloak, and the hand that had found its way towards a lower part of her back anatomy was quickly jerked away.

Menna rolled her eyes skyward for a moment, these Hobbits would be the death of her. The moment the cold had gotten too much for them she had offered to share her cloak with them in turns…apparently they had thought they could all fit under the cloak at once.

Aragorn seemed amused despite the harsh weather conditions. At least at first.

It just seemed like everything was getting worse, the air colder, the wind harsher, the snow heavier. The blizzard that stormed around them was getting steadily more blinding with each passing moment.

Legolas seemed of the same mindset for he rushed ahead of them, staring out into the darkening distance, "There is a fell voice in the air!" he shouted back to them, his elf ears picking up something on the wind they could not hear.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf warned, clutching to his staff as thunder began to rumble above them.

They all looked up, trying to shuffle back as rocks began to fall.

Menna stumbled, avoiding a large shard of ice that had fallen too close to her and the Hobbits for comfort. Her arms moved around what she thought was Frodo and Sam, yanking them back with her as she moved. She would have toppled over completely, nearly tripping over Merry (or was it Pippin?) behind her, had Aragorn not reached out to steady her.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled past her towards Gandalf, "Gandalf! We must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf cried, stepping forward and lifting his staff, chanting against the wind as loudly as he could, " _Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho I ruith_. Sleep Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!"

But it wasn't enough, the winds grew louder, the howling upon them starting to form words that all of them could hear now. Before any of them could blink, a crack of lightning flashed in the sky, the line of which was clearly visible as hitting the top of the mountain directly above their heads. Not a moment later a massive slide of snow fell down upon them, roaring and rumbling as it tumbled down the mountain, leaving them powerless but to watch in horror as the snow fell upon them.

Those upon the mountain threw themselves back, Menna grunting as she twisted to try and keep from crushing whichever Hobbit was behind her against the cliff face, pushing them just to the side so they could all gather as close to the side as they could. The snow crashed down around them, piling on top of them, nearly sending them falling over the side but they pushed closer, gripping those they could reach to hold tight and close. But even those actions proved fruitless as the snow buried them on the pass.

The winds only barely began to calm at the apparent victory in ceasing the quest to destroy the Ring, when hands began to push through the top of the snow. Weapons soon followed, along with shields, all frantically trying to push the cold whiteness off of them, clawing their way towards the breathable air on the other side.

Aragorn gasped as he managed to break free of the snow, looking over when he saw a feminine, though calloused, hand reaching up through the snow and moved quickly to help push the snow away, revealing Menna's face.

"The Hobbits!" she panted, wiggling to try and push the snow away from her, just barely noticing Boromir and Gimli behind her rushing to do the same. Within minutes they were able to push enough snow away that she could open her cloak and free the Hobbits, all of whom were rosy cheeked, their eyes wide in fear and confusion.

Menna nearly sagged against the wall of the pass at that, at seeing them alive and well, if a little shaken. She expected little else of that though, they had been hidden under her cloak, only able to hear what was going on around them and of that there wasn't much with the wind as loud as it had been. To them it must have been more like being jostled around in the dark and then pressed far too close together for comfort and then having their air cut off for a moment.

"Are you well?" she looked down at the Halflings, her hand resting on Pippin and Sam's shoulders in concern.

"Yes," Pippin gasped, patting her hand, "Thank you, Menna."

"We nearly got crushed to death," Sam shook his head, "We're the farthest thing from well!"

Boromir agreed with him over that, turning to look at Gandalf and Legolas, both staring out into the distance, scouting for Saruman, "We must get off the mountain! Make for the gap of Rohan and take the West road to my city."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn called out, warning clear in his tone that that was not a path they could make for.

"We cannot pass over the mountain," Gimli turned to Gandalf as well, "Let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

Menna could tell just from Gandalf's look of concern that that was a path he was desperately trying to avoid. For whatever reason the wizard had for it, she was certain it was a good one. He appeared very fond of the Hobbits, especially of Frodo, he would never put the lad in unnecessary harm or danger, and that was exactly what he considered Moria to be.

"Let the ringbearer decide," was all Gandalf could offer.

Menna reached out to place a hand on Frodo's back, waiting till the Hobbit turned to look at her, "Consider it well, Frodo," she warned.

There was something about all of this Gandalf wasn't saying, something dangerous he was trying to keep quiet about, but he was reluctant to enter Moria, and that was enough to put her on edge. She could work out well enough what one possibility was. She had run enough tricks and plots to see one unfolding before her eyes. She had often made cause for opportunity to arise. A carefully felled tree on a road, a well-timed distraction, a blockage down a path. She had made use of it all in the past to corner a mark, to push someone in one direction where she would be able to get to them easier, lure them one way to a trap.

She couldn't help but feel as though this were the same thing. Saruman had sent scouts to the south, blocking the road, he had caused a near avalanche on a mountain, blocking that path, he would know the lands, he would be able to tell the options they had. He was pushing them towards a goal, she could feel it in her bones.

She moved her hand to his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, "There is a reason this path was blocked from us, as was the south. Someone wishes us to be out of options."

Frodo swallowed hard, not having realized that till she had spoken the possibility. The weight of the choice put upon him was clearly weighing heavily. He looked around, noting that Aragorn and Legolas seemed equally as hesitant as Gandalf. Gimli was, however, overjoyed at the prospect of going to the mines, was hopeful and eager for that venture. Boromir seemed indifferent while Menna seemed to carefully be controlling her expression though her eyes were warm and understanding of what this would mean. It HAD been his choice to include her in the fellowship after all, it had been left to him and she understood exactly the weight of what it meant. His trust in her word, his forgiveness for her stealing the ring, it was on him if her inclusion turned sour. If was on him if she betrayed them.

It would be his fault if anything happened in the Mines that threatened the quest.

But it had already been threatened, all the paths they had tried so far had been blocked to them. And would it really be a trap if they KNEW it was? If they prepared for danger at every turn? If they went in expecting the worst and were ready for it?

In the end, it wasn't the gleam in Gimli's eyes, the promise of a safe trip, that made his decision for him. It was not even the naïve thought that the Mines would be as safe as Gimli thought they would be. It as Sam, it was Sam and Pippin and Merry, and how badly they were shivering in the snow, the tips of their toes turning blue from the cold.

No matter the danger ahead, they could not continue on this current path. It would be the death of them all, it would kill his friends and family to be trekking through the snow in bare feet with only Menna's cloak to keep them safe from the chill. It wouldn't last long, they couldn't continue this way. Saruman had already proven his power there, had already ensured that if they push on the mountain would crumble beneath them or above them.

"Frodo?" Gandalf's voice cut through his thoughts. The look in his eye was not hidden from anyone, his blue eyes were sparkling with hope that Frodo would continue on the mountain, but were also filled with a deep fear that he would choose the other path.

Frodo steeled himself as he met Gandalf's eye, "We will go through the mines."

Menna couldn't help but let out a breath at that, glancing at Aragorn to see the same concern in his eyes, his fear that this was a trap.

Gandalf swallowed hard at that, but nodded his assent to the will of the ringbearer, "So be it."

A/N: So now we see a bit of what Menna went through in returning the Ring. It _was_ a struggle for her, she was sorely tempted, but it acted almost like a trigger to her. The feel of the Ring triggered dark memories for her and it was an instinctive reaction (a very deep one) to throw it away as far from her as she could. Had it not been for that triggering, she probably would have kept it and run away with it :(

But we also get to see a little of Aragorn taking notice of her too. She had the ring, she threw it away. It's something he looks to for hope now, for himself. Arwen's words that he's stronger than he thinks are all well and good but she's never held the One Ring, she's never been offered it, she cannot possibly know what it's like of how tempting it'll be. Menna HAS been tempted, and if SHE could give it back, even if Boromir struggled to do it, then maybe he can too. I think it's the start of a little admiration on his part, he's recognizing her inner strength, even if she's fully convinced it's because of her instinctive reaction to the darkness of the ring.

Though, how long Aragorn's 'admiration' will last may be tricky }:) Let's just say Menna has a few thoughts about kings and Aragorn's 'plans' for his future that she's not about to keep quiet from voicing lol ;)

Some notes on reviews...

We'll definitely find out more about Menna's past in the second story. She may find herself a little more open about herself when there are less people around her ;) Menna, the actual name, is one that has no meaning to it, it's sort of represents 'unknown' so it doesn't relate to a family or a title or a word with meaning which gives it the nameless quality ;) I can say there's a bit of a fib about the necklace and the princess of Rohan, Menna's story about it will change at one point so I can't say much about it just yet, not till we hear the true story about how she acquired it ;)

Aragorn's age won't be much of an issue, it will actually be something that Menna brings up in a context that irritates Aragorn in a later chapter ;) I think he was about 87/88 during these events and he lives to about 210 in the books (but that's not to say he may not pass earlier if his heart was broken by the loss of someone he loves in this story). Menna is young, compared to him and even Boromir, about her early 20s and probably still has about 70 more years to go. Her life experience and things that she's endured will make her wiser and more mature than she should be which will help balance a relationship with someone older, like Aragorn. I normally don't agree with very large age gaps between pairings, which is why I'm so against the Doctor from Doctor Who and any Human Companion, but that's playing into a modern setting. The Doctor with a modern human, being set in the modern day, but also with a very large (like centuries large) age gap. For Middle Earth, there's a distinct Medieval feel to it and women then were married off as young as 12 to middle-aged men. In that context (even though I find that disturbing too), it's not quite as out of the norm for a girl like Menna to be married to a man 3 or 4 times older than her. For the stories, there will be 3 stories in this series, one for each movie, and there probably won't be one after the last one about their lives in the future though ;)

Menna's background }:) I feel like it should be more heartbreaking than it actually is given how she builds it up. I don't want to give away too much, but I can say her life in Middle Earth after 'becoming nameless' was more heartbreaking than the events that actually led her to flee and become nameless in the first place lol, we'll have to wait and see what those events were }:)

I'm glad you like it so far :) It could be Eowyn, it could be Eomer, or it could be a complete lie we'll have to wait and see };)

I'm definitely trying to keep the twists coming and to really make the story unique, to take what might be common tropes and put a new spin on them and have them be different than expected if they do appear :) I'm very much looking forward to Menna and Aragorn's relationship building up :) A lot of it will be founded in talking, in some sharing, and even some hard truths to face which I think is a great way to start, especially with Aragorn's feelings for Arwen still lingering around. I always got the impression he fell in love with her first because of her beauty and while that's all well and good, I feel like we didn't really see much of it in the books beyond that, here he'll really get to know Menna first before he starts to fee attraction to her appearance ;)

I couldn't picture all of the characters just falling for Menna or trusting her after the impression she made lol :) I feel like that is very real too, they're on this quest and they can't afford to trust everyone and they all have such different personalities that immediate trust in her just seemed really unbelievable :/ She may never win over all of them, but she may be able to slowly gain some sort of trust as the story goes, but definitely not instantly. Even here, Frodo thought Menna stole the Ring again for a second, it's going to be something she struggles with because she can't fully trust the others either so it's hard for her to gain their trust without trusting them in return, but she also gets frustrated when they don't trust her about something she thinks is important lol :) She's complex and I'm glad you like that about her :)

Aww thank you! I'm really glad to hear you say that. I really try to use each story and the reviews about them to improve as I go and it means so much to hear that you feel like each story gets a little better than the last :') That's what I'm aiming for and it's very touching to hear that it's paying off :')


	4. The Mines of Moria

A/N: I'm back baby! Woo! :D I'm going to keep this A/N short and just let you know there may be quite a doozy of a note at the end, but I'll be talking about why it took me a while to get back, my plans for updating going forward, and a few small little things ;)

~8~

The Mines of Moria

Menna rubbed her wrist as she walked among the company approaching a line of looming cliffs beside a murky lake, difficult to make out in the dark of night. It had taken them the better part of the day to get back down the mountain, though it was easier climbing down than up. She had noticed a twinge in her wrist, likely something that had occurred when she pulled the Hobbits back or when the snow had fallen on them. She could not be certain, but it mattered little when it happened. She rotated her wrist slightly, trying to work the stinging pain out of it subtly. She was of the same mind as Gandalf that they were about to enter a trap and being injured, even slightly, would not do well.

"The walls of Moria!" Gimli's voice echoed in the darkness, though the dwarf was so effervescent about the mines he was nearly glowing.

Menna felt a small smile come to her face at how excited the dwarf sounded, though no other in the party was quite as enthused. She looked over as she heard a small grunt to see Aragorn catch Pippin when the Hobbit nearly slipped on a stone. But then a glow lit up before her and she turned her attention front once more to see Gandalf touching a smooth portion of the cliff, a line of faint, spider-web like vines appearing, slowly crawling up the wall and forming a set of doors.

"Itidin," Gandalf murmured, his fingers tracing up the lines, "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight." He looked behind him and above, towards where the moon had risen high in the sky, over the mountains, and back towards the lines that made up the door. A faint string of lettering and symbol began to flicker into view on the very top of the door, following the archway of it in a language Menna could not recognize. "It reads, 'The door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

Menna let out a small huffing breath, "That's dwarves for you," she murmured, "A secret door for a secret people."

It was not uncommon knowledge throughout Middle Earth that, of all the species who shared the land, the Dwarves were, perhaps, the most secretive, keeping their culture to themselves. She had observed a caravan of Dwarves once, seen one or two in certain villages, working as blacksmiths and jewelers. They gave little away about themselves, she expected nothing less from such a race but a door such as this. Though she counted it an odd thing that a dwarven door was protected by something clearly elvish in design.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked, stepping up beside Gandalf to look at the thing.

Gandalf gave them all a gentle, sure smile, "It's quite simple. If you are a friend, speak the password and the doors will open!" he turned to the door, lifting his arms up, "Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen!"

Menna glanced around when nothing happened beyond a small breeze blowing past them, chilling them. Still, the door stood fast and closed.

~8~

Menna looked up from where she was sitting on a rock, her cloak packed into her bag, running a small whetstone across the blade of one of her duller knives, watching as Gandalf remained standing before the secret door, still trying to open it hours later. The wizard was mumbling to himself, half spells, half words, trying to work out a way in. She glanced down at the knife in her hand, then to her pack where a handful more were resting, all sharpened, a piece of leather resting beneath them. It was a strap of material, one she had stolen and mended herself, adapting it to holster the knives. She would sometimes string the knives in her possession through the strap, drape it across her front, when she needed a hunt and couldn't be bothered to dig into her pack in search for a blade when she came upon her prey. It was easier to grab something and flick it quickly, she'd needed a method to do it. If this did turn out to be as dangerous as she feared, she did not doubt she would need as many blades as possible.

She glanced back over at Gandalf, the wizard not giving up in his attempts to open the gate. She was of the belief that if Gimli, the Dwarf among them, had not the means to enter the mines, it was a good deal more difficult for Gandalf to manage it, but the wizard would not be deterred.

The sound of pots and pans clinking drew her attention over to where Sam was packing one of his bags, having just fed the Hobbits one of their meals, though his gaze was sad and lingering on his pony, one she'd learned was named Bill. Aragorn was tending to the pony, removing the saddle from the creature.

"Mines are no place for a Pony," Aragorn was whispering to Bill, though they could all hear him in the silence of the night, "Even one so brave as Bill."

Sam came to stop beside the pony, giving it one last pat, "Bye, Bill."

Aragorn nodded, slapping Bill on the hind gently to send him off, "Go on, Bill, go on..." Menna watched, as saddened as the Hobbits, as Bill slowly galloped away. "Don't worry, Sam...he knows his way home."

Menna's head snapped to the side as she heard a splashing noise to see Merry and Pippin tossing rocks into the dark lake, the water rippling from the center. "Pippin," she called as the Hobbit moved to toss another stone, "The water ought not be disturbed. You do not know what may lie beneath."

Pippin seemed startled by her statement, glancing at the water once more, before slowly placing the stone back down, leaving the water alone.

Aragorn looked over at Menna, watching as her gaze returned to the waters, focused on the ripples that appeared to be growing despite the stones having sunk and settled. He glanced at Boromir, giving the man a brief nod of warning, before he made his way to Menna's side, sitting on a somewhat large rock beside her.

"You noticed as well?" he murmured under his breath, glancing around to ensure no others heard his whisperings. He did not doubt Legolas had heard, the elf's keen eyes continued to flicker at the water.

Menna gave a small nod, checking the edge of her blade momentarily, "I have seen lake and pond disturbed from within. When there is none to cause ripples above, there must be below."

Aragorn shifted slightly, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword.

"You were very kind," Menna spoke quietly, drawing his attention back to her though her gaze was focused on the knife, tilting it this way and that to look at the sharp quality in the moonlight, "To Sam, to Bill," she clarified.

"Horses are magnificent creatures," Aragorn remarked, "Bill braver than most for a Pony."

Menna nodded absently at that. It was not something she expected from any of the party, it was a pleasant surprise to see a respect for the animals that traveled with them. She had not spent much time around Bill the Pony, he was quite small and often surrounded by the Hobbits. But it was something that had grown in her, a respect for animals in general, in the forests. Hunting for her own food, knowing how scarce the game could be in certain areas, when she found her food, she always thanked the animal that gave her sustenance. A man like Aragorn, he did not give the immediate impression that he would hold such a respect for a beast such as a Pony, it was refreshing to see such a side.

The two looked over, hearing Gandalf let out a tired sigh, to see the wizard fall onto a stone himself, resignation scrawled on his face. Frodo was nearby, looking up at the doors before he spun around with a wide grin.

"It's a riddle!" Frodo exclaimed quietly, moving to Gandalf's side. "Speak, friend, and enter. What's the Elvish for friend?"

"Mellon," Gandalf stated.

The reaction was immediate, the rock face fell away, dividing in the middle as the two doors engraved in the stone slowly opened...only to reveal a bleaker darkness within. Menna stood slowly, watching the fellowship as they shared hesitant looks, before they began to move towards the mine. She knelt down beside her pack, shifting the knives to the side and quickly looping the strap of leather across a shoulder. She fixed her pack to her back expertly, sliding knife after knife into the slits in the leather strap as she too moved towards the open doors.

The cavern within was as dark and silent as behind them, barely visible in the moonlight but she could make out winding steps that led further into the mountain.

Gimli was overjoyed, "So, master Elf," he sent Legolas a smug smirk, "You will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves; roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin...and they call this a Mine..." he snorted, "A mine!"

Suddenly the fellowship was illuminated, Gandalf casting an enchantment on the end of his staff to cause a small crystal to blink into a blinding light. And just as suddenly, they all stepped back in horror at the sight before them. Many a Dwarven skeleton lined the ground before them.

Menna tensed, a hand coming to rest on the knife resting across her middle, gripping the hilt as she looked around. The bodies were decayed, no doubt they had been left there a great many years ago to reach such a state. Their armor was strewn full of arrows, some with axes still lodged in them. It was a horrifying sight.

"This is no mine," Boromir's voice echoed, grim, "It's a tomb!"

"Oh...no..." Gimli breathed, all of them able to hear the crack in his voice as he stared at his brethren, "No, no!"

Legolas stepped forward, pulling an arrow from one the skeletons, observing the crude arrow now in his hold, "Goblins!"

Menna pulled the knife from her strap as the others drew their own weapons, all of them cautiously making their way back towards the still open doors. She was among the lucky travelers of Middle Earth to have never had the misfortune to encounter such creatures. But the stories of them were widely known, they were a species even the bravest would wish not to encounter.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir spoke, "We should never have come here."

Frodo let out a sudden cry as he was dragged back from them, towards the doors, a long tentacle wrapped around his ankle, dragging him towards the lake. Menna turned and ran after Aragorn and Boromir, both men having rushed to aid the Hobbit instantly. Her grip on her blade tightened, but there was no way she would be able to help, not with the darkness, now with how fast Frodo was being pulled. One wrong move and she could hurt the Hobbit instead of the creature.

Aragorn let out a grunt as he swung his sword down, severing the tentacle and pulling Frodo to safety. He quickly passed him off to Menna as she came up just behind him, he and Boromir taking the front in defense as she hurried Frodo back to the others. Boromir hacked at another tentacle that shot out, as though to reach for Frodo once more, which only served to cause dozens more tentacles to arise from the deep, the water boiling around it, each lashing out at the men.

"Go!" Menna urged Frodo, setting herself in front of him as a tentacle shot at them, flipping the knife in her hold to drive it into the writhing arm.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf called urgently, his staff held high for light, Frodo rushing past him as Menna backed up.

"Aragorn!" Menna shouted, the man turning to rush back, with Boromir close behind.

"Legolas!" Boromir commanded and the elf stepped forward, releasing arrow after arrow at the creature, providing cover for them to escape into the mines. Gimli rushed to close the doors, but the creature would not be deterred, ripping them from the cliff face. It appeared, though, that the doors were an integral part of holding up that side of the mountain and a rock slide followed soon after...sealing the entrance away by a mound of rocks.

Menna let out a soft breath even as they were cast into darkness for only a moment before Gandalf conjured more light.

"We now have but one choice," the wizard intoned, "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard...there are older and fouler things than the Orcs in the deep places of the world."

Menna sheathed her knife once more, running a hand along the length of the leather strap to ensure the rest were accounted for as the wizard turned to lead the fellowship along.

"Quietly, now," Gandalf murmured as they stepped out of the chamber and across a precarious bridge held high above the deep caverns, "It's a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence will go unnoticed."

~8~

The silence of the mine was nearly unbearable, as was the silence kept between the fellowship as they moved through. They all understood the danger the goblins posed. If the Dwarven army that resided within the mines failed so to contain them and fight back, for they had found no Goblin corpses to match, the chances of them still being alive were high. Silence was their only chance at going through the mines alive. They had passed even more Dwarven skeletons in numerous chambers, walls lined with Goblin markings etched in the blood of Gimli's fallen kinsmen. But, at that moment, they had survived despite the darkness and the fear.

They slowed as they came to a fork in their current tunnel, the path dividing into three, each as dark and bleak as the one beside it.

Gandalf frowned deeply as he observed the choice that laid before them, "I have no memory of this place…" he spoke as quietly as a whisper on the wind.

The fellowship glanced at each other nervously for that and waited patiently for the wizard to continue…

Menna sighed lightly under her breath, she had never known wizards took so long to make a decision. It must have been hours since Gandalf had stopped before the three tunnels and simply stared down them. She looked over from where she was resting against one of the walls, her arms crossed, to see Pippin and Merry speaking hushedly to each other. Another faint murmuring turned her gaze to Gandalf and Frodo. She could not make out what either group was saying, nor did she care much for what it could be so long as whatever it was got them out of that forsaken mine and into the light of day once more.

Gandalf suddenly stood from where he'd sat, pointing at the right tunnel, and making his way towards it, the fellowship scrambling after him. Menna pushed off against the wall, falling into step beside Aragorn as they followed the wizard's light ahead.

"He's remembered!" Merry cheered quietly as they began to move.

"No," Gandalf gave a faint chuckle, "But the air doesn't smell so foul down there. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose!"

Aragorn glanced at Menna when he felt her tense beside him, the two walking close in as the tunnel narrowed slightly.

Menna looked up, feeling someone's gaze, to see Aragorn giving her a questioning look, "Hunters use scent to lure their prey."

That was all she had to say for Aragorn to move his hand to the hilt of his sword in thought. She was…not wrong with such a thought. Often, in the more time consuming manners of the hunt, bait and lures would be used, setting traps with food to guide an animal closer. Whether this would be the same situation or not mattered little. Gandalf had clearly expressed a concern with venturing through the mines, they ought all be on guard regardless of which path seemed the safest and always be aware of any potential danger that could lie ahead.

There was no such thing as safe in the Mines of Moria.

They stepped into a chamber much more brightened than the others, what appeared to be true sunlight streaming in, just enough to alert them to the fact that it was daylight now outside the mountain. Still, they continued on, passing under an arched doorway and into a black, empty space.

Gandalf glanced around before lifting his staff once more, sending out a burst of light to reveal the vast chamber they had entered, "Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

It was…truly a magnificent sight to see. A high, lofty roof, mighty pillars holding it up, the hall itself expansive with sleek black walls, all polished and smooth as glass.

"Well, there's an eye opener and no mistake!" Sam exclaimed, though was sure to keep his voice quiet.

"Aye," Menna agreed, her gaze drawn away from the splendor of the hall and more towards a set of wooden doors ahead of them, smashed open, with black arrows of the goblins embedded in the grooves. She stepped forward cautiously, crouching down before the two skeletons that rested against the doorway. "These are not Dwarves…"

And certainly they were not, they did not have the same armor nor the same stature as the skeletons they had passed before.

Gimli seemed to take that as a message of hope that those who laid beyond the doorway were well, that they had overcome the goblins for he ran past her, through the doorway, ignoring Gandalf's warning to stop behind him.

The fellowship moved swiftly to follow him into another chamber, this one lit by a narrow shaft of day from a hole in the ceiling. It was a smaller room, Dwarf and Goblin skeletons piled high in every direction. There was a well in the corner, with a book resting on a block in the middle of the room made of white stone.

Gimli recognized the structure immediately and dropped to his knees, "No…" he breathed, gaping at the stone structure, "No, no…" before he broke down into sobs.

Menna had to look away at the raw display of sorrow that was Gimli. She was not unfamiliar with loss, nor the loss of those dear to you, it was difficult to witness without your own thoughts drifting back to such a time. It served as well to put her more on edge to see the way the mighty Dwarves had failed and passed. No matter which direction they went, they only found more evidence of destruction and despair, it did not spark hope within her that all would be well. She very much doubted they would all make it through these Mines alive and she could not help but question every move, every decision, they made, whether it was Gimli or Gandalf. There would never be a good one taken and it would be folly to fall into the belief that the next curve of tunnel or chamber entered would reveal the exit to the mine but, instead, more danger.

Gandalf stepped forward, moving to read the runes etched into the slab. "'Here lies Balin, son of Fudin, Lord of Moria,'" he closed his eyes for a moment in sorrow. "He is dead, then. It's as I had feared." He reached out and picked up the book gently, careful of its age.

Menna glanced over, hearing Legolas whispering to Aragorn beside her, "We must move on, we cannot linger."

"'They have taken the Bridge and the second hall,'" Gandalf read from the book, "'We have barred the gates...but cannot hold them for long...the ground shakes...drums in the deep...we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no one save us? They are coming.'"

Suddenly there was a clatter behind them, the company turning to see Merry grabbing Pippin, preventing him from falling into the well where he'd clearly stumbled and knocked over a skeleton in all its armor. They all stilled, holding their breath, as the sound of the armor clinked through the room, echoing into all the halls around them.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf hissed as he stormed towards the Hobbit, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

"Shh," Menna cut in quickly, a finger raised to her lips, her head tilting to the side as she felt something rumble through the floor, listening intently for whether a sound would follow. The others fell silent, a noise sounding in the distance before a massive BOOM rang out. Another followed close behind, as though a drum were beating within the walls of the cavern.

Aragorn spun around as a loud horn sounded, even more sets answering the call, followed by the thundering sound of stampeding feet and snarling.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried out, drawing their attention to the Hobbit as Frodo pulled a dagger, glowing blue along the blade, from his belt.

"Orcs!" Legolas warned, readying his arrows.

"Get back!" Aragorn quickly moved the Hobbits back behind the circle of men and Menna around them. He moved a step in front of Menna, throwing a, "Stay close to Gandalf!" over his shoulder, whether at her or the Hobbits she did not know.

But Menna would not cower behind the backs of others when she had promised her skills to this fellowship. She was not a frail woman, she was not some damsel in distress, nor was she the child who had started out her quest into the world. She had learned, she had honed her skills, and she would not back down now. And so she stepped up, to Aragorn's side, two knives in her hand, ready.

Aragorn cast her a mere look before he and Boromir rushed forward and slammed a set of doors shut, wedging a piece of wood along it. But Boromir reached out and grabbed Aragorn's arm, having spotted something past the door before they shut, "They have a cave troll!"

"Let them come!" Gimli near snarled as he hoisted himself onto the tomb of his cousin, two rusty axes from the bodies of his fallen kin in his hands, "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

The fellowship gathered closer together, their eyes trained on the doors as they bust open in a shower of wood, dozens of orc charging into the room, an enormous cave troll close behind them.

And so the battle began.

Menna grit her teeth as she hurled knife after knife at any orc who dared draw near her, doing her best to remove the blades should she have the opportunity, to use them again against the next enemy to get too close. She tried, truly she did, to keep the others in sight, but between Gimli and his axe, Legolas and his arrows, and the Men with their swords, she had her own enemies to concentrate on. They were skilled in their weapons, she had to trust that, they would not have dared such a quest if they were not prepared to face the dangers that were sure to lie ahead, now…now she had to prove herself.

She spun around with a gasp, managing to knock an Orc's foot from under him and slam her knife into its beating heart as it fell to the ground, looking up at the sound of a groan to see the cave troll swing its mighty club at Aragorn, causing him to stumble back. It lifted its weapon, ready to deal a killing blow as she drew back her arm. Boromir sliced at the beast, nicking its arm, causing it to rear away and that was when she struck. She hurled her blade at the beast, her aim as straight and true as when she'd first demonstrated her skill…lodging right in the cave troll's eye.

The fierce roar that followed was enough to shatter their ears as they staggered back from the boom.

But it also appeared to be just what Pippin needed to jolt into action, leading the rest of the Hobbits in time as he began to swing his dagger at any Orc he could. Seeing such a small object, smaller still than his dagger, cause such harm and cripple such a brutish beast…it was all he needed to know that he too, small as he was, could face down the last of these Orc creatures.

Legolas too did not hesitate, turning his arrow at the troll and firing away, straight through its other eye, right into its skull, killing it dead as it fell to the ground, taking out three more Orcs on its way.

They had a momentary respite, a single inhale of breath in relief, before the booming noise they'd heard before began again.

"To the bridge of Khazad-dum!" Gandalf turned to them, hurrying to lead the way, all of them aware that reinforcements were sure to arrive all too soon.

They fled the cavern, following Gandalf and his illuminated staff through the darkness, through the caverns and chambers, till they reached another door, the sound of Orcs filling the air as they swarmed behind them, racing to catch their prey. They ran as quickly as they could, when a roar sounded ahead of them. The fellowship froze but, whatsmore, the encroaching Orc army did as well. Before them, a fiery light began to flicker down the hallway, casting eerie shadows, heading right for them.

Menna spun around, hearing a scuffling, to see the Orcs…retreating?

"This will not end well," she muttered to herself, for anything that could frighten an entire horde of Orcs was nothing she would ever want to meet.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir seemed of the same mind.

Across the hall, an enormous shadow appeared, encased in flames, shaking the ground with every step it took.

"A Balrog," Gandalf breathed, truly sounding very afraid of the creature before them, "A demon of the ancient world! This foe is beyond any of you!" he spun to face them, "Run! Quickly!"

They turned and fled the room, rushing into the closest chamber to find a massive stairway carved from stone. There was a pit, just at the bottom of their stairs, Boromir nearly falling into it had Legolas not been swift and pulled him back, turning to guide them farther down.

Aragorn turned, hearing Gandalf panting behind him, "Go!" the wizard urged, "Lead them on, Aragorn!" he nearly shoved Aragorn away as the man tried to help steady him, "The bridge is near! Do as I say; swords are no more use here."

Aragorn nodded, turning to take the lead as they hurried down the stairs, following the narrow paths cut in stone till they reached a chasm in the rock, torn away or fallen through with the fierce battle the Mines had seen.

Legolas wasted no time in leaping across, turning to face them. "Gandalf!" he gestured for the man to follow suit, the wizard quickly leaping down as well.

"Go!" Aragorn gave Gandalf's order, his hand moving to the small of Menna's back in a push to urge her on, Legolas distracted by the Orcs hiding up high and firing arrows at them.

Menna looked around quickly, grabbing the nearest Hobbit, Pippin, and rushing for the chasm, knowing the shorter person would have more difficulty leaping across. Pippin was the smallest of the group, one she was sure she could manage to grip and still leap with. And so she took that running jump, and hurtled the two of them across the chasm, landing deftly on her feet and urging Pippin on past.

Boromir followed her example, grabbing Merry and Sam and hurling himself after the others. Aragorn turned, reaching out to grab the next person, only for Gimli to slap his hands away.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" Gimli huffed, launching himself across the chasm, followed quickly by Aragorn and Frodo. They looked up, hearing a roaring noise and seeing the flames of the Balrog shining through the doorway above.

They quickly turned and followed the stairs to the next cavern, a wide platform spitting fire up from the fissures in the floor, leading to a very long, quite narrow bridge at the end of the room.

As though by magic, a crack in the floor shot out a spray of fire, and the Balrog appeared within it. It was massive! A great beast, shaped like a man, but near 40 feet tall, with the head of a demon, horns like a ram, hair made of flames. It held a flaming blade in one hand, a sword of its own, and a whip in the other, flickering and laced with fire.

"Fly!" Gandalf cried, urging them on, the fellowship making for the narrow bridge and racing across as fast as they could.

They had only just made it to the other side, when they realized Gandalf had not followed. They spun as one to see him standing in the middle of the bridge, facing the Balrog as it moved to approach.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf shouted at the beast.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, his voice cracking with fear.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the shadow!"

Menna held her breath as the glow of Gandalf's staff intensified, surrounding him in a sphere of light just as the Balrog slashed its flaming sword at him, the magic of the wizard blocking the blow, shattering the sword.

Gandalf lifted his sword and staff above his head, crying out, " _You shall not pass_!" and slamming his sword into the rock of the narrow bridge.

The Balrog took a single step…and the bridge shattered under its feet, dropping away, taking the Balrog down into the fiery pits with it.

For a moment, just one moment, there was stillness and relief, there was joy as Gandalf turned to face them, successful in his endeavor…

But the Balrog's whip was not to be ignored as it slashed up, latching onto Gandalf's leg and pulling him over the edge as well. The wizard grabbed to the ledge, hanging on by the mere strength of his fingers.

"GANDALF!" Frodo cried, lunging forward as though to help, had Boromir not grabbed the Halfling and pulled him back, holding him.

And though he was far from them, though the sound of the battle, the Goblins and Balrog still rang out, they could hear Gandalf's final words clear as day.

"Fly, you fools!" the wizard wheezed, before his grip loosened and he too fell away, down into the dark pits with the Balrog.

"NO!" Frodo sobbed as Boromir had to lift him off his feet and carry him away.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn was frozen, staring in horror at the empty bridge.

Menna rushed to his side, grabbing his arm tightly in her hand. "Aragorn, we must away!" But the man would not be moved, so she squeezed his arm and shook him, forcing him to look at her. "We MUST."

She did not loosen her grip as she turned and pulled him after her, into the dark halls beyond, the two of them rushing after the fellowship as they were forced to flee the mines one member short.

A/N: I am SO happy to be back! Or at least I'm going to try and be. It will be really slow going with updates, but I'm going to try and update a story at least 3 times a week focusing on the currently in-progress ones: Calm Before the Storm, Intercession, New Beginnings, The Relationship Expansion, and Thief in the Night. So three of those stories should be updated a week and I'll do my best to rotate them, one after the other. If I can manage, I'm also going to try to get up the movie-stories caught up too, so Thor/Athena, Loki/Kona, Kirk/Victoria, Spock/Cora, and even introduce a Captain America OC for Steve, and try to get Sherlock/Leena squared away if I can ;)

There's a few posts up on my tumblr regarding why I wasn't able to post or be online much even after my last posts on tumblr promising to be updating again. Long story short, the cafe I worked at ended up being without a manager for quite a while so it was basically me and one other girl running the show. We finally did get a manager near the end of last year, but she was not really the best fit. I don't want to say she was incompetent, but after the learning curve excuses wore off (it just isn't realistic that after 4 months she still didn't know what soups got water and what got milk) we started to realize that was truly the case. The other girl I worked with left after the manager made it almost impossible for them to work together, and it was just me for a while after, and I was doing almost everything the manager was supposed to be doing in terms of running the cafe. It got to be way too much stress and anxiety, especially because I would usually end up fixing things the manager was doing wrong (repeatedly and after I'd walked her through how to do it correctly a number of times) and I finally had to leave. I've been using the last month to really recuperate and get back to a good place with my anxiety and health and focus on things that make me happy and calm like my writing. I was expecting that, with a manager around, the stress I felt building up would have gone down and I could focus more on writing, but she just made everything worse and there went my writing plans :(

But I'm back now and, while I won't be updating every day, I will still be trying for 3x a week, probably aiming for Monday/Wednesday/Friday. The spin-off stories will be on hold for a while, probably just updated every so often when I can squeeze them in, but not on the days they used to be uploaded :( Still, I really want to get back to my posting and I'm going to start off slow and steady and see how it goes from there :) I want to try and rotate the stories and not just focus on one while leaving the rest to wait.

I just want to say I'm so sorry for it being so long since I've posted last, and I really cannot wait to get back to some sort of regular updating schedule :) I hope you all will like what's coming up for Menna (and Angel and Sadie and Claire, and Lyssa, and Kona, Cora, Victoria, Athena, Leena and...Steve's OC lol).

For anyone that wants a nice little throwback, I've also started reposting some of my older work on AO3, still under LizzeXX, I'll be putting a link on my profile soon but there's one up on my tumblr. So far I'm just about to get to Proffy's second story. I'll admit I AM a little worried about plagiarism since it's easier to copy things off of AO3 than FF, so if anyone who is a fan of AO3 or even here on FF, if you notice my work appearing again with new OC names, just drop me a message for me to check it out. I'm really hoping it'll be different and that my stories will be safe, but I've learned not to get my hopes up too far when it comes to plagiarism :/

 **As for this chapter:**

I don't want Menna to be superhuman or come across like she is, I didn't want her to singlehandedly take down a cave troll, she isn't Legolas lol. But I did want to show that she does have her strengths and her being there will affect the course of events. Boromir still wounded the troll, but Menna's knife was just enough to cause it to back away and not attack Frodo, to give Legolas enough time to aim and kill the beast as well. I don't think it'll be too bad if the rest of the fellowship is unaware of the Mithril ;) I also didn't want Menna to come across as 'smarter' than the rest of the company, I wanted to show her distrust and hesitation with the situation and I hope that came through. She's sort of learned the hard way that anything that seems like a good thing, usually doesn't end up being as good as hoped so even with Gandalf there and leading the way, it's hard for her to shake off her years alone and trust anyone else to lead to safety, if it's dangerous it's going to be dangerous in every single way till you're literally safe on the other side sort of thing. She just expects the worst at each turn so she can be prepared and try to handle and cope with it.

There was also a lot of action going on, and with the tense setting of the Mines, not much time for any Menna/Aragorn (Maragorn? Nara? Aranna? Aragenna? Menorn? The Nameless King? Idk, we'll have to have a vote lol) interaction. But I wanted to show a beginning of trust and consideration between them. They have now survived a very intense event together, and it's always been my thought that moments like this, life or death and surviving, creates bonds no one else will be able to understand or compare with ;)

As for the pairing name, drop some suggestions in the reviews and I'll make a list and we'll have a vote ;)

Some notes on reviews...

I'm glad you like the nameless plot with Menna's name :) There will be a little bit more about it in future chapters, explaining just a bit more of it ;) I'm very excited to get to the splitting of the company just to see where Menna does end up ;) I'm also very happy that you're enjoying the peek into Menna's psychology and her past, how it's shaping her into who she is and the little budding friendship between her and Aragorn :) Menna will definitely be showcasing some of her skills, though bragging about them at one point may land her in some trouble ;) Her response to the Mines and the aftermath of it, I think, will also offer another peek into who she is and what sort of person she's had to become :)

I can say Menna is not a Dunedain ;)

I'm glad you're enjoying the Aragorn/OC quality :) There's going to be a few things for Aragorn to think on as the story goes in terms of his relationship with Arwen, what it means to be King, and whether the two could or even should happen at the same time which, I hope, will be done in a very sort of realistic way, where it makes sense the decisions and conclusions he comes to :)

Unfortunately this chapter was last updated in 2016 :( It's definitely been a while, but I'm back and updating again :) Maybe a bit slower than I'd like, but I definitely want to keep the steam going strong so I'm really trying to be conservative in what I think I can handle and the time I have so I don't fall behind again :)

I can say that I do have Menna's backstory all mapped out ;) There may or may not be a time or two where it seems like her backstory is a jumbled mess or contradictory, because Menna is a thief and she does have to lie about things here and there, just comes with the territory, but by the end of Return of the King we'll all know the truth ;)

I'm ok! I'm sorry for worrying you! :( A lot of things kept coming up and stress and things, mostly detailed on my tumblr, but I'm back and ready to go ;)


	5. To Carry On

A/N: I'm just going to put this here mostly to get it out of the way and because I promised my sister I would :/ I mentioned this on my tumblr that I've made a page on a website called ko-fi. It's a quaint little site where fans or supporters of a person to show their support by 'buying a cup of coffee' for a person if they want to. It's not really an actual cup of coffee (which is nice since I'm a tea-girl lol ;)), but a small contribution that's about the price of a cup of coffee, or 3 dollars. It feels a lot like a 'let's talk about your work over a coffee' to me, which is something I'm always saying I'd do if I met a reader in real life, want to buy them a cup of tea and talk (after I've returned from turning into a koala and clinging to them in a bear hug lol). My sister was getting on my case about how I 'write all these stories for nothing' and would not let it go even after I explained that I don't write for profit, but for fun and because I love it, I love the characters, and I love my readers. But to get her to lay off, I looked into a few sites and promised to make one and let people know about it. This one seemed very simple and nice, there's no obligation or commitment or requirement at all. I'm not about to withhold updating or hold a story hostage, I love writing and all of you too much. It's completely up to the supporter if they feel they might want to contribute one 'cup of coffee' or ten in one go or one when a new story comes out or anything or nothing at all. But even my mom was encouraging me to actually make the page since it seemed like a nice, small way to show love (though I think it's more her focusing on my leaving my job lol), but still, doesn't hurt to try. The link is on my tumblr's 'Links' page and also the URL is on my FF profile if anyone is interested. If anything comes of it, at least it got my sister off my case lol ;) Now onto the story! :D

~8~

To Carry On

The sorrow and mourning the fellowship felt was all encompassing as the smaller group made their way out of the mines and into the daylight. Menna stood beside Aragorn as they observed the Hobbits and the others, the impact of Gandalf's sacrifice truly beginning to set in. Menna gripped the leather strap around her tightly as she saw Pippin cradled in Merry's hold, tears streaming down his face. Sam was in a sorry state, falling to the ground with his head in his hands. Gimli was looking into the distance, sniffling, clearly trying very hard not to show his sorrow. Legolas did not appear to know what to make of the situation, she could understand his alarm. She would think, being an elf, being an immortal and of a kingdom where all his people were the same, that to witness such a death would be jarring. Gandalf was a wizard as well, the stories of their power were well known across Middle Earth and to imagine any being, even a Balrog, being able to end the life of one was…unheard of. To imagine a man of Gandalf's power and knowledge dying just like that, in the blink of an eye, even she was affected though she had not known the man long.

She glanced at Aragorn, the man grim but composed, watching the group with regretful eyes. She stepped away, giving him room to grieve and mourn in his own way, and moved to sit on a nearby rock.

She took but a moment to close her eye and take a deep breath, trying to still her heart, racing from the danger that had only briefly passed. She could feel tears stinging behind her eyelids and shook her head, now was _not_ the time. She opened her eyes and quickly pulled the leather from around her shoulder, her fingers carefully trailing down the length of it, taking note of each knife still there, tallying the ones that she hadn't been able to retrieve from the Orc corpses or the cave troll's eye. She pulled a rag from her pack and made sure to wipe off the remains that might have been left on the other knives she'd gotten back as she gently pulled each from its holding. She took the cleaner knives and slid one into each boot and two into a slot on her belt as well for good measure. It had been foolish of her to keep her knives in her bag on this journey, naïve to imagine any of them would come out unscathed. She would be better prepared from this point on, always ready, always alert. The rest of the knives she placed at the top of her pack, resting on her rolled up cloak, her other treasured belongings stashed carefully at the bottom of her pack. She rolled the leather strap around her palm and pushed it into the pack.

"Well," she remarked, just to say something in the quiet that threatened to overwhelm them, "I've three knives lost. Not bad. Can restock that easy enough at the next town or tavern we pass…"

"Have you no compassion?" Boromir turned on her, the man seeming equally as stunned by what had happened, though forcing himself to remain as though stone.

Menna looked up at him as he towered over her and tilted her head, "The way I see it, there is but one path to take," she told him, her voice almost forcefully blasé, "To move forward."

"We have just lost _Gandalf_."

"Yes," she cut in, "And he died a noble death…"

"Don't you dare talk about Gandalf like…" Sam began, pushing himself up and half rushing at her as though to shout.

"Peace," Menna held up her hands, "Gandalf has passed, but we cannot afford to do the same," she looked around at the group, some of them now staring at her though Frodo appeared in shock, looking out at the distance, "We must move on, carry on. You are in mourning for him, you should have right to be, but you cannot afford to be right now. I grant I did not know him well, but he seemed a good man and I will mourn him. _When it is safe to do so_ ," she looked at Boromir especially for that, at Aragorn as the man drew closer to the group, "He did not give his life for us to fail now. Nor, I think, would he want his demise to mark the end of your quest. You stay here," she stood, shouldering her pack, "You hesitate, and you dishonor him. Fail to finish this quest, and his death will be for nothing. Hate me now for the words I speak, but I would rather see Gandalf avenged with the destruction of the Ring."

Aragorn shook his head, "That is well put," he came to speak, "We cannot idle here," he looked over at Legolas and Gimli, "Get them up," he commanded the Elf and Dwarf of the Hobbits.

"Aragorn," Boromir reached out to grab Aragorn's arm, "Give them a moment...for pity's sake!"

"Menna is right," Aragorn defended, "We are not safe here. By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must away," he glanced at Menna, repeating her words from the Mines with a nod of his head in thanks, before he focused on Boromir once more, "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Come!" he shouted to the others, watching as Legolas was able to help Pippin and Merry to their feet, Gimli leading a shaken Sam over as well, "Frodo?" he called out, looking for the Hobbit only to spot him half walking away from them, "Frodo!"

The Hobbit in question turned slowly, his face devoid of any other emotion but devastation, his entire countenance radiating his shock.

Menna stepped past the men and over to Frodo's side, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on his shoulder as she gently turned him and led him back to the group, her heart clenching painfully to remain so callous with the company while they were so hurt in spirit. But it had to be done. She was the only one there who did not know Gandalf the way they did, she was not untouched by what had happened and befallen them, but she was not as affected having known him so little.

Death would always be a horrifying thing to witness, but she had seen her fair share among wood and mountain, had come near enough to it herself in the winters. It happened, even to the best, and the only thing that could be done was to carry on.

~8~

Menna walked slowly, beside Frodo, her one arm around his shoulder in comfort, Sam marching dutifully on his other side as they continued to make their way across the dale. The Hobbits were…silent, on the small march. Far more silent than she was used to them being having travelled with them as short a time as she had. She had the impression that Pippin was the most talkative of the lot, but even he was quiet, Merry next to him, mimicking Menna with his arm around the smaller Hobbit.

"I AM sorry for your loss, Frodo," Menna spoke to the Hobbit beside her, her voice low and quiet, though easily heard in the silence that surrounded them.

She took care to reveal more of her own sorrow for the passing of Gandalf than she had just outside the Mines. They were moving again, it was possible to mourn on the move, she had, and they could, but she didn't want them to think she was heartless or so wretched a person that she cared nothing at all for their pain. The Hobbits were _hurting_ , just as she could remember hurting for her mother and father, and all she wanted to do was make it better, while knowing there was nothing she could do.

In truth…she understood quite well what loss was and just how much a person could take before it became too much. She had seen it, with her family, the one she'd had before it all fell to ruin. Her mother, her father, the way they loved each other. So much that when one passed…the other couldn't help but follow, leaving her an orphan. To watch her family fall apart, and then to witness her home fall to a darkness she had learned in her travels was spreading slowly but surely across Middle Earth? As a child that pain had seemed nearly unbearable. Having grown, it still felt that way though she had worked hard to bury it, to push herself through it. She had to, she had to be strong. Anything less than strength in the face of Middle Earth's many dangers spelled almost certain death.

She had failed her family once, she had failed herself once before, had turned her back on her home instead of stayed to fight the darkness. There was not much she could do as a child, she realized that many years later, but while she had been young she had just felt so much like a failure for not even trying. She'd been frightened, she'd felt alone, unheard, unseen, and so she'd fled. She'd run from that darkness of her past and she had fought every day since then to be better, to be stronger, to be harder and better and faster.

Maybe, one day, she could return to what might be left of her home and fight for it again, if the darkness had not already claimed it in permanence. Maybe she wouldn't, maybe she would stay away, too ashamed to face what she'd left behind. She didn't know what the future held for her, especially not now that she didn't even know if she'd survive this quest. All she knew was that it would truly require every ounce of strength she had to help the others see it through.

But that didn't mean she had to sacrifice her compassion and humanity to do so.

"When I was a child, I had a cousin," she remarked to them, a little lost in thought as she recalled him, "And he used to speak of my parents, and his. He would tell me that those who have fallen never leave us. They become one with the stars that watch over us in the night."

Menna glanced up to see Aragorn glancing over his shoulder at her for her words. She could see in his eyes a similar pain as she felt tightening her chest. He, too, had lost those he loved, perhaps even his mother and father as well.

"Thank you, Menna," Frodo's weak voice carried up to her, pulling her gaze away from Aragorn and down to the Hobbit. Frodo reached up and patted her hand resting on his shoulder, resting it there a moment to squeeze her hand in true thanks before letting it drop.

Menna gave him a small smile, patting his shoulder before she removed her arm, nearly chuckling at how Sam immediately moved closer to his friend in support. She looked at the Hobbits once more before walking ahead, moving to join Aragorn nearer the front of the line.

"Who did you lose?" she asked him quietly, a few minutes after she'd reached him.

His expression grew fond, but sad, as he thought on his own past, "My mother, 10 year ago. My father, when I was but two years."

Menna nodded grimly at that, "I cannot even remember at what age I lost mine. I was but a child. The years…they blur together in the wild after a time."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, "I count it by the moon."

"And what age is the great Aragorn?" Menna teased, latching onto anything she could to try and brighten the spirits of the company even if just a little.

"87."

Menna gave him an odd look, "You lie."

He couldn't help the small smirk at her reaction, "Nay, I am of the Dúnedain."

Menna eyed him a moment longer, her expression thoughtful as though trying to recall something she had not thought of in a good deal of time, "The Rangers of the North, Descendants of Isildur?"

"He is not just a descendant," Legolas spoke.

Menna glanced between Aragorn, who appeared to be wishing Legolas would remain silent, and Legolas who was smirking at Aragorn, "Oh?"

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor."

Menna looked back at Aragorn, the man shaking his head with his eyes closed, " _You_...are a king?"

Aragorn opened his eyes at that, glancing over at her with an odd look, thrown. Not by her question, but by the way she'd said it. He did not make a habit of revealing his lineage to many, those few that did learn of it were more in awe and shocked to discover it. Menna…did not sound anything like that.

If he had to wager, she sounded more skeptical than anything else.

"I am merely the heir," he remarked, "I am no king."

"The second part, I believe, the first…not so much," she answered with a shrug.

Aragorn stared at her a moment, glancing back at Gimli as the Dwarf let out a chuckle at her response, "I beg your pardon?"

Menna glanced at him again, "You don't hold yourself as though you're a king," she explained, "You don't act like a king, you don't talk like a king…"

"And you've talked with many kings in your life?" he found himself starting to smile at her implication that, if he didn't seem like a King then he clearly could not BE a king.

"Not many, no," she gave a soft laugh, before looking ahead again, "I just think, if you _were_ a king, you'd be in your kingdom and ruling."

"My family was exiled many generations ago," he elaborated. It was…true in a vague sense.

There was a lot of history dealing with his family line, kingdoms that fractured into more kingdoms that fractured into more or fell to ruin. Marriages to other kingdoms that should have meant a claim to a throne being overruled by the people in favor of other, distant royal relatives. Royal lines dying out and no kingdom to rule any longer, stewards not at all likely to relinquish their places of power to those with no clear claim to the throne itself.

"But you are still here," Menna argued, "A king, a true king, would not be hiding in the woods when their people are in need of them."

"Gondor has a steward," Boromir called out, seemingly have heard them, "My father, who has ruled justly and fairly in the stead of…"

"Yes, yes," Menna huffed with a laugh, "No disrespect to your father, Boromir, but he is not the actual KING is he?" Boromir couldn't respond, "If someone has the right, the claim, and the ability to rule their people well, do they not then have the responsibility to?" she shook her head, "If you were the rightful King of Gondor, you would be in your kingdom, caring for your people."

Aragorn mimicked her huffing laugh, "I am caring for my people, for all the people of Middle Earth, by seeing to this quest."

"Hmmm," Menna hummed, "No, I don't think that counts as ruling your people."

"Do you truly not think me the King of Gondor?" Aragorn had to ask, not sure if he felt startled or relieved by her reaction.

On one hand, it was…refreshing, to have someone actually questioning his claim, questioning him. So many began to treat him differently once they learned about his lineage, it was…something else to be treated as though he were just a mere Ranger. And it was a large part of why he did not reveal his lineage lightly. A part of him also felt that she was making so light of the revelation to try and cheer the Hobbits up, as he could see the small beginnings of a smile flash across Pippin and Merry's face at her words and teasing.

On the other hand though, he felt an odd tug in his chest, as though he needed to prove to her that he not only WAS the rightful king of Gondor, but…that he deserved the title, that he would be a worthy king. She seemed of the mind, in some way, that him being there and not within his kingdom, meant he did not care for his people as a king should. It was not true at all, he cared very much, but…there was something far more important to do.

"If we do not destroy the Ring, there will be no kingdom or people to rule," he offered instead.

Menna just reached out and patted his arm, as though to comfort him in a failure, "You cannot fool me, Aragorn. Oh, my apologies, _King_ Aragorn."

The sarcastic way she uttered the word 'king' coupled with the playful bow she gave him had Gimli letting out a barking laugh, Pippin and Merry chuckling behind him, even Frodo cracked a smile.

Aragorn soon found himself laughing as well, a small weight that had settled on him since Gandalf had fallen lifting if just slightly to hear the Hobbits make even the smallest of happy noises. Menna was right, this was not the end, nor would it be the one Gandalf would have wanted. He would have pushed them to fly, to go on, to see the Ring destroyed and not let the quest destroy them.

"I do not see what is so humorous," Legolas remarked.

Aragorn glanced back at him for that, " _Savo 'lass a lalaith, Legolas_ ," he called back, "There may not be much of it to be found later."

"What does that mean?" Menna wondered, glancing between the two men.

"Have joy and laughter," Aragorn translated.

Menna nodded and looked ahead again, "Legolas, are there any other phrases in Elvish that you could teach us? Ones that might be good to know on a quest like this?"

Legolas frowned at that, "Why would Elvish be necessary?"

Menna shrugged, still walking forward, "If we had known more Elvish, it may not have taken us so long before."

She was very careful not to bring up the Mines specifically, knowing it was far too sensitive a subject, but there was a point to be made now with that. If more of them HAD known the language, perhaps one of them would have thought of it sooner, perhaps events would have gone differently if they had been able to enter the Mines sooner than they had.

"If we come across an enemy that doesn't know Evlish, we can talk to each other still!" Pippin added, raising his hand in the air to offer his thoughts too.

"That is a fair point," Sam agreed, "All I know are some of the phrases Bilbo used to mutter."

"All he used to say to me was _havo dad_ ," Merry muttered with a pout, thinking back to all the times that Bilbo would tell him to sit down, usually followed by some variant of 'be quiet.'

"What's that?" Menna asked, "Hannorad?"

"Havo dad," Legolas corrected.

"Have no dad?"

"Havo dad."

"Harvodaad?"

"Hah," Legolas huffed.

"Hah."

"Vo."

"Vo."

"Dad."

"Dad."

"Say it together then."

"Havaladd?"

Gimli's full belly chuckle made them all smile at the frustrated look Legolas was getting on his face at Menna's quite fearsome butchering of the Elvish language, "Oh, you're a right one by me. Anyone who can make an elf look as though he's sucked something as sour as a lemon is a fine lass in my book."

Menna let out her own laugh at that, trying to take a breath though she was inwardly quite pleased when she heard all the Hobbits tittering behind her, "I'm not trying to make him look anything, I want to learn Elvish."

"You shall not be learning it from me," Legolas remarked with a huff, likely feeling all the patience he had built up over his long life being drained out of him in just that one interaction.

"Oh, but you are the only Elf among us!" Menna argued, though it was with a light tone that revealed her understanding.

"Aragorn would be a fine teacher."

"If it is left to me, it is a challenge I most readily accept," Aragorn joked with a nod to Menna, letting her know he was being truthful that, if she did want to learn, he would be willing to teach her.

"Then I shall endeavor to be an apt pupil," Menna promised.

The noise Legolas made at that had the Hobbits laughing once more, for it sounded something a cross between a snort and a scoff, both of which were highly unexpected from one as regal and noble as an Elf.

The laugher did die down somewhat as they caught their breath, the group falling back into their silence once more, though it was with a lighter spirit around them. Nothing would be able to make the loss of Gandalf alright, but the ability to still laugh, to still be _able_ to laugh, despite such a staggering loss was not something any of them would take for granted.

"I am sorry," Aragorn spoke a short while later, glancing up at the sun just beginning to start its path towards setting for a moment.

Menna gave him an odd look, "For what?"

"You lost your mother and father as well," he replied, "It could not have been easy, especially as a child."

She shrugged, "I had…some family," she offered, hesitant to speak too much about her past, but she HAD mentioned a cousin and there was this…feeling of kinship to Aragorn.

She didn't know much about the Hobbits or the others, who they might have lost and she felt a bit as though she couldn't speak to them of it, that it wouldn't be right to bring it up. Boromir did not seem the sort to be willing to share anything about himself, nor did she feel she could ever bring herself to speak of much with him beyond the realms of the quest. Gimli and Legolas, they were an entirely different species, with different customs and experiences and likely different beliefs and ways to cope with loss. The Hobbits, while also a different species, were just…so childlike to her that she felt her heart clench painfully to bring up anything that might cause them pain, such as discussing if they'd lost anyone they loved, any family.

Aragorn was…safe, in a way. She felt as though he wouldn't give much about himself away either, the same as her. He wouldn't push her for information nor would she push him. And he would understand if she hesitated to speak or changed the topic. She was quite sure at least Legolas and Boromir still mistrusted her and would likely see her unwillingness to share as a more sinister keeping secrets.

"Why did you leave them?" Aragorn spoke again, after another stretch of silence.

Menna was silent a moment longer, "They fell apart," was all she said, "And then so did my home. It wasn't the same, it wasn't safe, I couldn't bring myself to stay. So I left."

Aragorn gave a small nod, sensing a firm end to that line of discussion. Though it was, by far, not the end of the questions that stirred in his mind at her words. What had happened to her family? What had become of her home? He could not imagine any family, even distant ones, not trying to search for the little girl that had run away after such a loss, so why had they not gone after her? He could not picture any child surviving long in the forests of Middle Earth, much less the winters, without some sort of help. Why would her family just let her go? HAD they searched for her? Did they think her dead? Was her home even still standing? Had more of her family passed than she was saying?

He let out a soft sigh at the questions, they were…an odd thing to think of at a time like this. He should be focused on the quest at hand, at the need to reach Lothlorien, at the end in sight of destroying the Ring…not about the past of a strange woman who had joined a deadly quest without invitation. Yet a part of him couldn't help but feel intrigued by her. She talked, but she never gave away anything unless she wanted to. And a small warmth bloomed in his chest at the realization that she HAD revealed something to him, small as it was, she…trusted him.

He looked back when he heard a gasp to see Frodo had stumbled slightly, Sam catching him quickly enough. He looked ahead, keeping his eyes trained for the telltale signs of Lothlorien and grinned widely when he spotted a large forest ahead, with something of a shimmer among the trees.

They had been careful, climbing down from the Mines to the field just before the forest, but it was in sight now, they were almost there.

~8~

They had steadily increased their pace the nearer they came to Lothlorien. They had tried to give the Hobbits as much time as possible to pass from the shock of what happened to Gandalf, moving at a steadier pace as they climbed down the dale to the path that would lead to the forest. But now that they were so close, they were practically running across the forest floors, through the yellow flowers and leaves drifting down around them. The silver pillars that began to line the way sparkled in the light.

It was truly a beautiful sight, all of them could admit so much…

Except Gimli.

Poor Gimli, son of Gloin, looked as though he were about to be sick or jump out of his skin at the next moment.

"Stay close, young Hobbits," he murmured to them, gripping his axe tightly in his hand as he took bigger steps to crowd into the other shorter people, "They say a Sorceress lives in these woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell..."

The Hobbits looked at each other for that, Frodo seeming to hesitate more than any other as they stepped further and further into the forest.

"And are never seen again!"

"Gimli," Menna sighed, "Hush, please. You are frightening them."

Gimli glanced over where Frodo had stopped walking, "And right they should be frightened! Fear, best way to keep on your toes!"

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam called, moving over to check on his friend.

"I tell you," Gimli continued, "Here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

He turned around to face front again…only to come face to face with an arrow aimed right in the center of his forehead.

Within the blink of an eye, the fellowship found themselves surrounded by what appeared to be an army of Elves. Each stood tall and serious, with fair hair and dark armor, arrows with the sharpest edges aimed at each of them, some, like Gimli, even with two or more arrows aimed for good measure. Legolas had the quick reflexes to pull his own bow back at them, but none of the others were quite so fast.

They looked over as a rustling sounded to see another Elf, a male one, stepping past a bush to stop before them. He eyed them all critically, pausing on Menna as though…not surprised, it was quite difficult to surprise an Elf on his home territory she was sure, but…as though she were about as welcome in that forest as Gimli was, judging by the sneer the Elf turned to the Dwarf, staring at him with thinly veiled disdain.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," the man remarked, sounding for all the world as though he were disappointed that they had not, in fact, made target practice of Gimli.

Menna glanced over as Aragorn said something to the elf, seeming to know him given the way the Elf returned his acknowledgement.

"Aragorn!" Gimli huffed, "These woods are perilous. We should go back."

The Elf seemed to almost smirk at that, "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back," they watched as the Elf looked at Frodo for a moment or two before glancing at Aragorn and nodding, "Come, she is waiting."

Menna looked around at the others as the Elves before them slowly lowered their weapons, though the ones behind kept them raised. Aragorn gave them a nod of reassurance and began to follow the Elven leader through the woods.

It was a quiet affair, following the line of Elves through the twisting paths of the forest, up the hills and past the trees. No one said a word until the Elves ahead came to a slow stop, just at the top of a high hill, almost like a ledge. The Elf that had guided them smiled at the sight of the structure beyond, a sight that was truly incredible to behold.

"Caras Galadhon," the Elf stated, pride and joy evident in his voice as he beheld his home, "The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

Menna glanced over at Aragorn as he nodded his thanks to the Elf, who began to lead them on once more. She wasn't sure what to expect as they followed the Elves onwards, but she had little choice but to follow the line as they passed into the borders of Lothlorien.

A/N: I hope Menna didn't come across too cold-hearted with her reaction to Gandalf's passing :/ To me, she was the one who knew him least and had only really had one conversation with him. Yes, she would be sad he passed in such a way, but she honestly didn't know him well enough or long enough to be quite as devastated as the rest of the company. I always felt so bad for Aragorn to have to be the one to get the others moving because he knew there was a danger, I thought maybe having another person there of the same mindset might soften the blow a bit.

I also hope the bit of laughter wasn't out of place on their path to Lothlorien. I feel like with Menna not AS affected as the others, she would try to make the effort to give them some sort of light back at the loss they suffered. She would try to find some sort of way to just get them to crack even a small smile, to remind there was still hope :)

As for the pairing name for Aragorn and Menna, I've got another poll up on my profile for my Once Upon a Time series for a pairing name for that so I'll still be collecting names for Menna/Aragorn probably until the next chapter and then put it up for a vote ;)

And finally, thank you all so much for your amazing reviews and welcome backs :') I really am so happy to be back and updating again and I'm so happy that it made you all happy as well, I really can't wait to see where Menna goes and I hope you'll all enjoy what's coming ;)

Some notes on reviews...

When it comes to Menna compared to Arwen, I feel like some of it has to do with her being human as being a good match for Aragorn. In the books, Arwen did NOT have as much of a role or part as she did in the movies, so it's almost easy to forget Aragorn has this 'epic love' for her at times. I honestly feel like Aragorn fell in love with Arwen's beauty first and then the rest followed, whereas with Menna he's slowly going to be falling in love with other parts of her first. She's going to bring up a lot of points he hasn't considered about what being with Arwen would mean vs the reality of the situation. And that's sort of my intention here. Arwen is the dream, Aragorn's past, beautiful and timeless and untouched by the Ring and all the darkness of the world, almost an unrealistic hope of his, a time when he wasn't facing claiming the throne of Gondor or anything. She could be something pure to help him almost forget the horrors he's going to witness because she didn't live through it the way he did. Menna is the reality, she's not timeless, she's vulnerable and hardened by the world, she's experienced loss and struggle and fear and hardship that Arwen hasn't. She's real, and a reminder of the War for the Ring, something no one should really forget about. She's lived among men, she understands them, she understands mortality which even Aragorn might struggle with fully since he lives so long. At first it began as a consideration of if a human would be a better match for Aragorn than an elf, and sort of grew into a lot of other thoughts for not just what a King of Men would need, but Aragorn after experiencing this quest. Arwen would never be able to understand the things he's lived through and seen and sacrificed on this quest, someone who was there and living it with him, would. And while Arwen appears to be a really cool fighter in the movies, in the books she's sort of (from what I recall) the stereotypical fair maiden, soft spoken, beautiful, distant, sheltered. Menna has lived an entirely different life and I think Aragorn would need someone more human to help him remember his own humanity and the fragile nature of things than an elf. And also, I just felt SO bad for Arwen in thinking about how her life would turn out and everything she'd subject herself to to be with Aragorn. And it was a little bit of a 'she's centuries older than you and also related to you' thing that throws me off couples like that. Yes, Menna is younger than Aragorn, but she's still the same species and, in a medieval type setting, that sort of gap wouldn't be as out there to me. I sort of wanted to play with the elf vs. human quality of it :)


	6. Lothlorien

Lothlorien

Menna was sure she had not seen anything in her life so beautiful as the forest of Lothlorien. Regardless of how they came to be in the forest, the darkness spreading across Middle Earth, and the danger that would undoubtedly face them the moment they stepped out of the protective enchantments of the woods, it was still an awe-inspiring place. The Mallorn trees towered above them, so old and ancient it felt as though they had seen the birth of Middle Earth themselves. A short distance away was the Anduin River, pale and flowing, shining like liquid silver in the rising moonlight. As the moon continued to rise above them on their trek through the forest path, the trees themselves seemed to begin to glow as though sprouting silver leaves, sparkling in the fading light and casting a light of its own.

Menna glanced around as they were led to what appeared to be a large platform with a set of stairs leading down towards where they had come to wait below. There was a soft light all around them, with walls of green and silver able to be seen even in the slight darkness. Above them the trees grew so close it was as though the ceiling were made of gold, so near were the leaves to each other.

Her gaze was drawn to a large tree in the center of the upper platform where a tall man, with long blonde hair and pointed ears stepped forward. His face was grave, but sculpted, no wrinkles or any sign of age to weary it. And, beside him, was a beautiful lady, with hair even paler, a golden shade, falling in waves beside her face. She was dressed in a pristine, white gown, a thin circlet upon her brow as a crown. Her eyes were blue, with the light of stars shining from it.

"Nine there are," the man, Celeborn she recalled, spoke, observing them all, seeming quite disappointed with what he saw, "And nine there were set out from Rivendell. Yet this is not the same Fellowship."

Menna tensed as the man's gaze turned to her, staring at her as though judging her.

Aragorn glanced over out of the corner of his eye to observe, ready to vouch for her should she need it for she had more than proven her dedication to the quest and her strength to face the dangers of Middle Earth. He half expected her to look away, to bow her head in the face of such obvious scrutiny, but Menna surprised him, as oft she did, lifting her chin just slightly more, refusing to be cowed.

It wasn't till Celeborn looked away that Menna released the breath she was holding and relaxed her shoulders only slightly. She had stared down the scrutiny of others all her life. Since she was a child, with a home and those around her judging her constantly, to her time as a thief, appearing as nothing more than an urchin, an orphan, to those of the towns she passed through. With their eyes constantly turning to her and the dirt that covered her, the growls of her belly, the way she shivered. Their never ending looks and obvious thoughts about her worthlessness. She had made the mistake once before of cowering, of backing down from those looks, had let it drive her to actions she was not proud of. Never again would she ever let the opinion of another dictate her worth or sense of self, not even an immortal Elf lord.

"Tell me," Celeborn spoke again, "Where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."

The Fellowship exchanged looks at that, some bowing their heads, others trying to wipe away a stray tear at the memory of what had happened.

It was none of the company that spoke the answer, but the Lady Galadriel herself, her voice soft as a breeze, though carrying for all to hear, "...he has fallen into shadow," her gaze turned mournfully to Aragorn as she spoke, "The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all..."

Menna glanced over at the others for that, biting the inside of her cheek just a bit. Words spoken from Galadriel seemed and felt so powerful, so ominous and warning…yet she couldn't help the stirring of irritation that bloomed within her chest. Yes, yes everything was balanced on the edge of a knife, lives were like that in general. Anyone could fall at any time and she was well aware of how fragile things were. This was nothing new to her, nor, she knew, was it new to the company, it was quite obvious. And yet the Elfin lady seemed to feel the need to speak in riddles than offer any sort of help or aid to them but pretty words.

Words would not save them.

"Yet hope remains," Galadriel continued, her gaze drifting to Menna with a small, almost amused smile on her face. Menna got the distinct impression that the Elf had read her mind for the knowing look in her eyes.

Menna gasped quietly when she heard the woman's voice speak, yet her lips did not move...

' _The Nameless do not choose to be what they are. They are of no importance in a story. That is not the fate you are destined for._ '

Menna glanced around, looking to the other members of the Fellowship to see if they had heard the words as well. But none had made even a flinch...it was just her, she had heard the Elf in her mind...that or she was going mad...

"While the company is true," Galadriel continued, her attention drifting over to Sam and the other Hobbits, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil," until it finally settled on Frodo, "Tonight you will sleep in peace."

Menna glanced over at the company as they all quickly moved to bow to the Elven royalty, jerking slightly as she followed suit, not quite used to bowing to anyone but not wanting to offend, unsure if she should attempt to curtsy as was befitting women though she wore no dress to do it with. It seemed as though the Elves before her knew of her presence, she would not be surprised if they knew of her skills either, but they had made no comment on how the Fellowship had picked up a stray and she was not about to do anything that would see her thrown in a cell as opposed to offered food. That was yet another thing she had learned in her life, never take food and a safe harbor to rest for granted.

She doubted they would get many opportunities for either in the days to come.

~8~

Menna sat amongst the Fellowship later that night, just outside a pavilion of sorts where the others were gathered. Gimli, Legolas, and the Hobbits were within, resting on soft couches while the Lothlorien Elves left food and wine for them to dine on. She had had her fill, but she knew the Hobbits and Gimli were likely starving and were eating a fair bit more. She was sitting nearer to a small fire that was burning in a structured pit a short distance away. Aragorn was a few feet away, speaking to another Elf, while Boromir stood a few feet away, lost in thought, when a singing began to drift down from the trees above them. It was a soft, mournful sound, as beautiful as it was sorrowful.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas told them.

Menna glanced over her shoulder at that, and then up to the trees. She had not been lying when she said that she did not know Gandalf as well as the others of the company, but that she would mourn when it was safe to. Now, in this moment, she felt it safe enough, and it was…reassuring to know that he would be mourned by far more than just their small Fellowship.

"What do they say about him?" Merry asked.

"I have not the heart to tell you," Legolas gave them a sad smile, "For me, the grief is still too near."

Menna observed Legolas a moment longer, noting him among the backdrop of the elven forest. She knew, vaguely, from small things she had overheard, that Legolas too was from a woodland realm, was prince of it as well. Seeing him there, among like beings, it was a stark reminder of his race.

To hear an Elf speak of grief, of it being too near to him, it was such an odd thought, to her. Elves, in her mind, were distant creatures, immortal beings. What must the lives of mortals look like to them? This grief, how long would it last? How long before it was far from his heart? To a man who could live forever, time must pass in the blink of an eye, and yet here she was, existing at the same time as one. Sharing the same experiences as one. What sorrow must Legolas feel, when times came to lose those close to him. She supposed, in his own land, that time would be few and far between, but here, on this quest, she guessed it was a reminder to him of the frailty of mortal life. He had surrounded himself with mortal beings, and now he was forced to witness and be reminded that their lives could be lost in an instant.

She could admit she knew little about Elves outside of the stories that spread across Middle Earth and the small glimpses she got of them as they passed through the woods at times. They were immortal, only to be killed in battle of a fatal wound or, in some of the fairy tales, a broken heart. She was not sure the truth behind the last method, it did not seem like something Elves would do, give their heart to someone who would die a mortal death. Elves, she thought, would guard their hearts far more fiercely, forever was a long time to live with a wounded heart.

The sound of crunching made her turn to look over at Aragorn as he approached Boromir, sitting down beside the man who looked far worse for the wear than ever before. In the moonlight, it was clear to her that his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Take some rest," Aragorn tried to urge the man, "These borders are well protected."

Menna looked away, not sure the men were aware she could hear them and did her best to focus on her current task. She had warmed some water on the fire and had a cup in her hand, taken from her pack, and was sipping a small tincture she often made herself during the colder months of the year to keep her strength up. While it was warm and temperate in Lothlorien, they had only recently escaped a frigid mountain and drafty mine, it would not do to fall ill now.

She focused on sipping it and dong her best to ignore the conversation going on before her.

"I will find no rest here," Boromir was speaking quietly to Aragorn, "I heard her voice inside my head..."

Menna nodded to herself as that did reach her, at least she knew now that she had not gone mad for hearing Galadriel's voice in her mind either.

"She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor," Boromir continued, his voice growing louder with emotion, "And she said to me: 'Even now, there is hope left.' But I cannot see it...it is long since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our…our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right...and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze...have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

Menna looked down at her small mug as she listened to Boromir speak. Perhaps she had misjudged him during this quest. Listening to him speak of his home, of how desperately he wanted to make things right in his homeland, a home that was failing, a father that was struggling…

She looked away quickly, reaching up to brush under her eye with the curve of her knuckle, inhaling sharply and blinking to remove any wayward prickling still in the corner of her eye. He spoke of home with such fondness and love, such loyalty and dedication. He still had a home, a father, a family, a people to serve. Even talking of the trumpets, the memories those noises must bring up to him.

She clung to the fond memories, few though there were, she had of her home, of the family she'd loved and lost, the people she had run from. But she had not been there in so long, sometimes she struggled just to recall a smell of it, a sound. It was devastating to hear something or smell something and feel a memory just on the cusp of forming only for it to allude you, to fizzle and fade and know that, with every year that passed, the memory would be farther away and harder to reach.

She may have given the ring back to Frodo easier than Boromir, but he was proving to be stronger than her in other ways. His devotion to his people and determination to see them restored to glory, he was braver than her, to remain even when things fell apart, to stand strong and face the darkness instead of running from it.

She had drifted through Gondor a time or two, she tended to avoid the larger kingdoms. While they were often easier to disappear in, there were also more guards on aware and harsher punishments for thievery or breaking the law. The smaller villages were quieter, less of a threat should she be caught. But she had seen the white city, it was beautiful and she could imagine, of all the kingdoms and lands in Middle Earth, that, should the land ever fall to the darkness that was Sauron, it would be the last gleaming light in the darkness, the last stronghold.

"I have seen the white city," Aragorn told Boromir, his voice soft and distant, full of longing and love, "Long ago."

"One day our paths will lead us there," Boromir swore, sounding surer and stronger of heart at the emotion in Aragorn's voice, "And the tower guards shall take up the call 'the Lords of Gondor have returned.'"

Menna watched as Aragorn offered Boromir a smile before the man stood to walk away, only for the smile to fall once Boromir was gone. Aragorn sat there a moment longer before he sighed and stood. He looked around at the others before his gaze drifted to her and offered her a true smile as he moved to join her, sitting down across the fire from her. He reached out with a metal rod lying nearby the pit and stoked the fire, watching the flecks of flame drift into the air.

"You were very brave in the Mines," Aragorn commented.

"As were you," Menna gave him a nod, taking a sip of her mug once more, "It is…funny, in a way, how easily we can face what lurks in the dark when it is not what we truly fear, yet that which we do tests our bravery"

Aragorn gave a small laugh at that, "You mean to say you are not afraid of goblins or orcs or cave trolls?"

She smiled a bit for his words, "Not as much as I fear other things."

"Such as?"

She lifted an eyebrow at that, giving him a pointed look.

He held up his hands, "Peace," he mimicked her words, though understanding that was not quite a conversation that needed to be had just then. He looked over a moment, hearing Pippin let out a boisterous laugh.

"Aragorn," Menna spoke, an almost sharp tone in her voice masked by a note of concern, "You are injured."

He looked back at her to see her gaze on his neck and lifted a hand to touch it. He felt no blood leaking, though there was a faint red stain on his fingers when he pulled them back. A wound, not fresh, but not yet healed, "Tis but a scratch."

"A scratch gotten in dank mines while we were fired at with Orc arrows," Menna pointed out, setting her mug to the side and turning to root around in her pack, "For all we know, they could have been laced with a poison…"

"If they were, I would not be breathing now," he pointed out, somewhat amused by her remarks.

She gave him a narrowed look, "That means little when infection may yet set in."

He chuckled, "Menna, I assure you, it is merely a flesh wound."

"Well then," she straightened, a small pouch in her hand, opening it to reach in, "If so, you should have no qualms with me dressing it."

"We ought not waste supplies…"

"These are my own stores and I shall use them as I deem fit," she remarked curtly.

He held up his hands at that, silent and accepting, not wishing to argue when she was so set in her decision. And, he could understand her logic, it was sound. Any wound, no matter how small, could lead to serious consequences if not treated responsibly.

He watched her curiously as she took a sip of her mug, examining the contents before nodding and sprinkling something into it from her pouch, what appeared to be small green flakes. She used the spoon that was still in the cup to mix something, mashing the flakes with the contents of the mug before she stood and made her way over to him.

Menna perched herself beside Aragorn on the log he sat upon, reaching out without a word to turn his head to the side, away from her so she could better see his wound. She scooped out something from the mug, dipping a finger into it and lightly touching his neck along the scratch. Perhaps it was deeper than he first thought, it stung quite badly for such a small cut.

And then the scent of it reached his nose, "Athelas?"

Menna glanced at him, a small smile on her face as she nodded, focusing on coating the cut in the Kingsfoil paste, "I was injured, once upon a time. Had the misfortune to wander into a trap set by another hunter. I didn't know much about dressing wounds, thought water would be fine."

"I take it all was not well?" Aragorn asked, keeping his gaze on the pavilion for Menna to work.

She hummed, dipping her finger into the paste for more of it, "I was fortunate. I passed a small procession of Elves along the road. One took pity on me, gathered some nearby Kingsfoil and treated the wound. I had no idea such a common weed held such healing properties."

"Aye, not many do."

"Since then I've always endeavored to carry a stock of it when I pass it on the road. I keep some dried for the winter. A sprinkle of it in some water, in a tea, and I find myself better able to endure the cold."

"That is an interesting method," he remarked.

"It works surprisingly well," she reached out to grab his chin gently, tilting his head this way and that as he laughed at her actions, examining the scratch, "There we are," she smiled, dropping her hand from his face to pat his chest, her other hand tracing the line of his neck down to collect any potential drips.

"My thanks," Aragorn smiled at her, stilling quite suddenly when he realized how close she actually was to him.

Menna took a sharp but quiet breath as he looked to her, startled for the same reason, not having noticed their nearness while her attention had been on his wound. She gave a small nod, quickly quipping out, "Well, we cannot have _King_ Aragorn falling ill before he can claim his crown."

Aragorn let out a hearty laugh at that, hearing in her tone that she still did not believe he was actually the rightful heir of Gondor, "We cannot have that."

She stood and made her way back to her spot across the fire, Aragorn watching her go with a gentle look in his eye, observing her through the glow of the flames. He wasn't sure what to make of the woman, the girl who had stolen the Ring of Power yet given it back, who showed no outward mourning of Gandalf after his departure yet worried over the smallest of nicks. She was hardened by the realities of Middle Earth, yet had not lost her compassion, a rare combination for this world.

"I doubt your queen would be pleased either," Menna continued, a smirk growing on her face.

Aragorn looked at her sharply for that, "My…queen?"

She gave him a knowing look, "Your heart is taken. It must be. We have been here, surrounded by fair Elf maidens, and your gaze has not strayed to any among them, Aragorn. Even Gimli has found himself besotted."

Aragorn chuckled lowly at that, recalling how Gimli had gone positively silent in awe at the sight of the Lady Galadriel. The Dwarf had stared at the Elven lady as though she were the purest, most precious treasure he had ever beheld. For all his mutterings about Elves in general, Gimli had certainly forgotten all his ill thoughts about them when presented with the timeless beauty that was the Lady of the Woods.

His chuckles died just a bit as the rest of her words resonated, clearing his throat near the end. No, no his gaze had not strayed to any Elven maiden in the forests. He shook his head, firmly telling himself that his gaze had not strayed at all, not to anyone, certainly not to Menna either.

Another, smaller, quieter, more traitorous part of his mind whispered that he was not prohibited from mere gazing. Not with how he had parted ways with…

"She's an elf too, though," Menna remarked, not sounding at all like she was guessing.

Aragorn's head turned to her once more, "How could you possibly…"

He had not said a word about Arwen, the pain of their parting still too near. He had left her with words that what they had could not continue. Even if that was not what he wished to say, not what he wanted her to believe, nor what he felt in his heart, he had still said it. For the love that Elrond bore his daughter and his fear for her future, he had abided by the wishes of the Elven lord and spoke words he did not believe and parted ways with a wounded heart.

A flash of light caught his attention and his hand immediately grabbed for his chest, staring down at it and back at Menna, the Evenstar necklace dangling from her fingertips.

"Peace," she held up her other hand, a proud smirk on her face for managing to sneak that off him while he had been distracted and she had been fixing his neck. She stood, winding the necklace into a hand and holding it out to him to take back, "I can recognize Elven design, I do not see a Ranger wearing such finery unless it was from someone important."

"Yes…" he looked at the necklace a moment, "She was."

Menna's smile began to fall, "Is she…"

"She lives," Aragorn reassured her, able to tell from her tone and expression she feared she might have made light of something that caused him great pain.

He inhaled deeply at that. That was the precise reason he had made the effort to part with Arwen in more ways that just one. He could not bear the thought of her passing, not from this world, but from life itself. Elrond wished for her to join her kind in the Undying Lands, reminding him that the only reason she would refuse was her love for the mortal that held her heart. He had told himself that he would rather Arwen live, even if it was with her people in a land he could never go, than to have her remain with him and pass or suffer his passing.

He had _told_ himself that, yet he had not _believed_ it when confronted with the fair Elf maid.

Looking down at the necklace in his palm, a part of him, small though it was, could admit he _did_ wish for her to live more than anything else. Perhaps it was witnessing Gandalf fall, a man so timeless, perhaps it was knowing he himself may not survive this quest. But whatever it was, he was starting to believe what he'd said, to truly agree with it. He would never wish to cause Arwen pain and he knew the pain of being parted and having her family and people there with her would hurt far less than to be alone in the world of Men and parted forever by death. He almost felt...a relief...that he had given her some reason to remain with her people and not continue to allow her heart to beat for _him_.

Menna nodded, moving to sit back down once more, "Then she is either an elf, or someone quite wealthy to afford Elven work. I could feed myself for years on the price I could fetch for that…"

Aragorn looked down at the pendant, lightly running his thumb along it before glancing back at her, "Aye, an elf."

Menna watched as he placed it back around his neck, "Then it is settled. You could not possibly be the King of Gondor."

Aragorn gave her a look for that, confused, "How does one come to that conclusion from…"

Menna shrugged lightly and leaned back against the tree behind her, lazily rolling her head a bit to view him through the fire, "The rumors say that the Rangers of the North live long lives, longer than any normal man, centuries even," she answered instead, "You claim you are 87."

"Aye, I am."

"Then you have many more years still to come, should we survive this quest, of course," she had to add at the end, even if it earned a small chuckle from Aragorn for it, "Imagine marrying an Elf?" she shook her head, letting out a small scoff at the thought, "A mixing of the blood between an Elf and a Ranger? The children of such a union would outlive even you."

"Yes…I suppose," Aragorn could agree, following her logic for it was reasonable. He knew his ancestors had once lived many more centuries than he would. It was only through time and the diluting of the blood by marrying those with a mortal life that the span of life had begun to diminish. It would make sense that, by introducing the immortality of an Elf, it would renew the blood and lengthen the lifespan.

"Well there you go," she shook her head as though her explanation should be clear, "Your sons would outlive you, they would live on and on and on, having generations worth of sons and yet still be ruling your kingdom once you pass. With so many contenders to the throne, it would be chaos."

Aragorn fell silent at that, only able to stare at her as…he had not actually given much thought to such a fate. As much as he loved Gondor, it still felt like a distant dream, one he had not dared hope for. He had lived his life a Ranger, he did not think himself a King despite how Legolas vouched for him. One day, yes, he would have endeavored to reclaim his crown, to lead his people, but dreaming of it and actually doing so…it was a jarring thing to think about. To try and face the reality of what his life would become if he did take up the crown of Gondor.

"Son after son would wish to be king, yet unable to sit upon the throne while his father or grandfather still held it," Menna continued, "Worse, the kingdom would remain unchanged."

Aragorn looked at her sharply for that, "It is the greatest hope of every king that his kingdom and people remain."

"I mean it would never _change_ ," Menna emphasized, "Kings are set in their ways, they rule the way they wish and change for no one. A king who is of the blood of Ranger and Elf could sit upon the throne for 500 years," she chose a random number, "And in that time, the people would change, they would live and die and have children and learn and grow, but the king would not, could not. For a kingdom to prosper, there must be change, new blood, new eyes. Unless a king of that blood stepped down for his son to rule, but there would still be more children yet that vie for the throne. I'd imagine it would be very difficult to form alliances with other kingdoms too."

"How so?"

"What king, what father, would send their daughter away to marry a prince who would never be king in the lifetime of his wife?" Menna countered, "Many alliances among the royals are formed by marriage, some with the hope that the daughter would become Queen, yet she would never. Worse, her husband would outlive her by centuries. What meaning would there be in marriage at all if the husband chose to remarry? Or remarries over and over because the woman died?" she shook her head, "The friendship between kingdoms may crumble for it, all because the king chose an Elf for a bride."

Aragorn could not help but glance over at Legolas as Menna spoke her thoughts. He was good friends with the woodland elf, he knew his story and history of his people and kingdom. All that Menna said…it sounded like what he knew of Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm and father to Legolas. The elf had lamented to him of how his father ruled the kingdom, closing the borders, keeping his people close, hiding away instead of allowing new ideas and change to take root. The elven king had ruled for more than a few centuries, and Legolas would not see himself become king unless his father died, unlikely for hiding himself away in his kingdom, or stepped down, something he had proven unwilling to do.

And what she said of the crumbling alliances...it did hold some sense to it. Elrond did not want his daughter wed to a mortal due to the difference in life, to the cost it would put on Arwen. It was not far to think a mortal man would feel the same for his daughter to wed someone who would outlive her by centuries. Would that happen to Gondor? Would he have condemned his people to that fate for love of Arwen? For the desire to remain with her and join their hearts in such a way? He would not know, he was 87, yes, but the life he would live to near 150 years, 200 if he was very lucky. He would not have lived long enough to truly see if that would come to pass. But he feared in his heart that it would.

"It would be cruel not only to the people, but to the Elf herself," Menna added, drawing Aragorn's attention back to her, seeing a genuine concern on her face, not for the kingdom this time, but for the she-elf, "The people, surviving the darkness that has fallen upon the lands, may not want a foreign queen, an Elf, cold and distant and unable to understand the fragility of mortal life. And it would be unspeakably cruel to force such a woman surrounded by none but mortals who will pass before her very eyes," at that she glanced back at Legolas a moment before sighing and returning her gaze to the fire, "It is not a secret the Elves are leaving the land, I have seen it, the processions, the boats, in my travels, I do not think they intend to return. An Elf, wedded to a human, would endure separation from their people, unable to return to them, forced to watch over a people who are not their own, and watch the one they love die. I would not wish such a fate on anyone."

Aragorn let out a breath at that, he had...not thought of that either. He had known it would hurt Arwen to be away from her people, as much as it would hurt her to watch him pass. He had looked to how it pained his heart to be parted from her but...he had not considered Arwen's fate as QUEEN. It was such a distant thought to him, to be king, to actually BE king, that he had not considered what it would be like for Arwen in the role of queen. He had not thought of the people, their reaction, their possible issue with it. He had not thought of what it would mean to have Arwen there surrounded by mortals. HOW had he not given that a thought?

"If a man cannot put the care of his love before his own desires, a king...a king must _always_ put his people first," Menna remarked, sounding almost as though it were just an absent thought.

But even so...it was one SHE was bringing up that had not crossed his mind, a girl who had no claim to Gondor's throne, a mere thief on the road, seemed more aware of the politics and the way a kingdom ought be run than he did. He supposed it made sense, if she had traveled as much of Middle Earth as she claimed, she had likely seen the other kingdoms. It was all very common, very basic knowledge though he had not paused to consider it.

"Often times marriage is a way to strengthen the kingdom, an Elf alone in the world has little to offer such a people, where a tie to another kingdom might be necessary. A king must be careful to whom he gives his heart for just such a reason, they may not be able to wed the one they wish, not for the sake of his kingdom. You have already given your heart, I imagine it is not so easy to get back," she looked over at Aragorn, seeing the man looking down at the necklace, and nodded to herself, silently cursing in her mind as she realized she may have spoken out of turn about all this, it was not her place to lecture, especially not when she was not so sure he was actually this King he claimed himself to be, "I think I shall retire."

She stood, giving him a single nod, and departed, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

A/N: I can't say whether Menna is right or wrong about what would come from marrying an elf, but I think she does have a valid point, logic wise, and valid concerns in terms of what it would mean for a kingdom. I feel like she brought up a few things that Aragorn may not have thought of when it comes to what having Arwen as his wife would mean for his kingdom. I read the trilogy and the Hobbit a very long time ago, and this is mostly based on the movies, so for all I know everything ended happily ever after in Gondor after Aragorn wed Arwen (I know she dies mourning Aragorn's passing though). But, I also feel like that IS something Aragorn, or any king really, would _need_ to think deeply on when it comes to marrying, what will it mean for his kingdom? Kings do not always get what they want, their people and kingdom must always come first, so, in that sense, it plays into why Menna doubts Aragorn is really a future king, he HASN'T thought about this. And I think it fits Aragorn as well, he seems hesitant to take the throne in the movies, he may not want to think about what it will mean to be king and so he's never thought past that point. At the moment, with the quest, there's no point to think past just trying to destroy the ring either, but Menna is sort of forcing him to consider what he would do if he does survive and take his crown.

And she's also being considerate of Arwen as well. She's not saying what she does in a selfish way. Right now, she has struck up a friendship with Aragorn, but she's not thinking she wants to be his queen or lover. She's honestly being genuine in her disbelief that he IS the heir to the throne. She's not saying what she does to try and get herself into his heart by pushing Arwen out, but she is genuinely thinking about what it would be like _for Arwen_. She doesn't know the woman, has never met her, doesn't know what she's like beyond being important to Aragorn. But she can see in a general sense what it would be like for just an ELF to be cut off from her people, she's essentially lived it herself, and she wouldn't wish that on anyone. And to now also be confronted with what Legolas is facing surrounded by mortals, it's even more obvious to her. And, just in terms of a kingdom alone, how would they react to a 'foreign and distant' queen?

On a lighter note, I'm going to be posting a poll on my profile some time today for a pairing name for Aragorn and Menna :) I'll announce who wins in the next chapter, but if you want to help pick out their official ship name, be sure to vote ;)

Some notes on reviews...

Menna was definitely goofing just a little to try and lift spirits yup ;) I feel like the men were so serious, which is understandable, but they were also warriors and the Hobbits were not, they were frightened and devastated. I think Menna, being a woman, was a softening touch needed to see that the Hobbits needed a distraction and wanting to try and keep them falling to despair as best she could :)

Menna definitely is going to be the reminder of what it means to be human, especially for Aragorn. Like in this chapter. She's a completely outside onlooker, a new perspective that has no idea his history with Arwen or who she is and she can look at it just in the most basic terms of King, Queen, kingdom, species. Aragorn spent so long living around Elrond and Arwen, or among other Rangers with long lifespans, that it makes sense he might have a harder time actually understanding what a normal human life is like. Menna reminds him of that by bringing up really important, basic points about a kingdom and what she thinks might be trouble for the crown with an elf on the throne. All very basic and logical, reasonable, statements, but ones Aragorn may not have considered and should have ;)

We'll be seeing quite a few more attempts at Elvish from Menna as the story goes ;)

I'm very glad you feel Menna has depth and is different than other LotR stories :) I haven't read any, as I try not to let myself be influenced by other works, but I know, through a past plagiarizer, that there is a very deep love of Tolkien and some very large dangers when it comes to putting an OC into his work so I read up a little on the bigger red flags to see if Menna was in danger of raising them and I was really relieved to find that she didn't seem to trigger them, so I'm happy that she really is going in a good direction and not just me being hopeful :)

I'm very eager to get back to Piper and Rummy, I just want to try and catch Lyssa up a little bit ;) I might try to alternate the stories though, finish Season 2 of Lyssa, catch up Season 5 of Piper, then 3 for Lyssa, and so on though ;)


	7. A Brief Respite

A Brief Respite

It was with a heavy heart and great solemnity that the company prepared to depart Lothlorien. They had tarried there many days, Menna was vaguely sure of it. She had noticed, some nights, the position of the moon was not where it should have been, or appeared back too quickly. If she had to guess, she might wager that near a month had passed. With a quest as dangerous and important as the one they were on, it did not sit right with her to wait so long to move on. All it did was give their enemy more time to catch up to them.

It was true that they were safe within the forest of the Elves, but that did little to protect them once they were out of the woods. Without the magic that infused the trees, the Orcs that were sure to have been following them would be upon them.

It was not her decision to make, though. With Gandalf's passing, it appeared leadership had fallen to Aragorn, with heavy counsel from Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir. She was not an official member of the company, had sworn no oath, had not known Gandalf as long as the others. She could see, however, how the others mourned and the weight that had fallen upon them at the loss of the wizard. They needed time and space to mourn in peace and safety, to be able to continue on this quest with their minds fixed on the goal and their souls rejuvenated. If they were constantly thinking of what had happened in the past, on the pain it caused them, they would have a more difficult time noticing things that went on around them.

She knew that from her own past. The pain of losing her family, of watching her home fall to darkness and fleeing. It had haunted her for many years, constantly tugged on her mind and made it hard to go on. It made it difficult, in some moments, to WANT to go on. She had struggled so much during the winter months that thinking of all she'd lost made her feel hopeless and disheartened. What was the point in going on when there was no way to gain back what she lost? When she would never have the life she'd had or the family she mourned?

She could not deny the company needed this time to heal, to find joy and comfort and hope again. They would also need the rest, emotional and physical. She was sure the Hobbits had not endured such activity in such large amounts in their entire life. She maintained a fairly active life, always moving, always hunting, always sneaking through towns. She'd experienced the cold, the heat, hunger, thirst, pain, and wounds. It was not something she would ever wish on the Halflings, but it was a danger she knew they may end up enduring on this quest. This might be the last port in the storm for their company, and if they needed this time to gain strength, it would be worth it.

She doubted the Lady of the Woods would keep them there for so long if it was not necessary. She seemed to understand the magnitude of losing Gandalf, seemed aware of the quest and the danger their lingering could cause, she would know, better than most, being so old and wise and powerful, that time was precious.

But now the time had come to depart, and so she joined the rest of the company as they were led to a small dock at the edge of the woods, next to a river that ran through the forest. She glanced at the others of the Company, taking in how they looked. Well rested, well fed, strong, and scared.

The Hobbits looked reluctant to leave, the others more than ready to go, though it was less a desire to leave than a knowledge that every moment delayed was another moment the enemy could catch them. It was an anxious, nervous energy that filled them as they gathered upon the dock, the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn joining their people to bid them farewell.

A row of elves stepped forward, presenting each of them with a cloth that they drew around every member of the company, even Menna, clasping the cloaks in front with a bejeweled leaf, "Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people," Lord Celeborn stated, "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Menna could only give a nod at that, not sure how to feel about it. It was a show of good faith and good will, that she had been given a cloak just as the others had, but she HAD a cloak, one she had worked far harder to earn than she had this new cloak. She did not want to be disrespectful and remove it in front of them, but she was not sure she could actually thank the elves for a cloak she was sure she would end up bundling into her pack. It was a strange fabric she was not used to, a different weight and length than her own, it felt odd.

The Lady Galadriel joined her husband's side, smiling down at the nine before her. Her eyes held a grief that could only come from the knowledge of understanding the dangers they would be facing and knowing she could not be there to help.

She slowly approached each of them, starting with Legolas, the nearest to herself, "My gift for you, Legolas," she began, gesturing to an elf nearby to bestow him a beautifully crafted bow, "Is a bow of the Galadhrim. Worthy of the skill of our woodland kin."

Legolas accepted the bow, staring at it in wonder, and examining it closely before looking at Galadriel with gratitude in his eyes.

She gave a nod and stepped closer to Merry and Pippin, handing them two small sheaths herself, "These are the daggers of the Noldorin. They have already seen service in war," her gaze travelled to Pippin, "Do not fear, young Peregrin Took. You will find your courage, you have already begun to realize it."

Pippin cracked a small smile as a result.

Galadriel then moved on to Sam and Frodo, "And for you, Samwise Gamgee, Elven rope made of hithlain."

Sam took the small bundle of silver that an elf handed him, testing how lightweight it was, yet how strong, "Thank you, my lady. Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers?"

Galadriel smiled at his jest, and gestured kindly for him to step away, guiding him to join Legolas and his fellow kin down by the boats. She smiled warmly at Frodo, "Farewell, Frodo Baggins. I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star," she held out a small crystal phial for him to take before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, "May it be a light for you in dark places, when all other lights go out."

Frodo looked at her with grateful tears in his eyes, nodding his thanks, unable to find the words, before he turned to join his friends, tucking the phial away in his cloak as he went.

Galadriel watched him go a long while, before she turned to continue on the line, looking to Gimli as he shifted when she approached, "And what gift would a dwarf ask of the Elves?"

Menna smiled as Gimli couldn't seem to look the Lady in the eye, keeping his gaze downcast, as though to look at her would be too much. He truly was besotted. She caught Aragorn's glance out of the corner of her eye and saw him smirking as well at Gimli's behavior.

"Nothing," Gimli answered, "Except to look upon the lady of the Galadhrim one last time," he forced himself to look up at her, "For she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth," Galadriel let out a wondering laugh, filled with joy, as Gimli turned to walk away, only to still himself and face her once more, "Actually, there was one thing…"

Menna eyed him oddly as he began to speak to himself quietly, muttering under his breath before taking a deep gulp of air and squaring his shoulders.

"I would ask nothing more than a single strand of hair from the golden head of…"

"Master Dwarf," the Lady cut in gently, sure that more flattery was to follow. She raised a hand to her head and plucked not one, but three, strands of hair, offering them to Gimli, who took them as though they were the most precious jewel he'd ever touched.

He couldn't even utter a thanks, too stunned by the action, that he turned to join the others by the boats still staring at the strands in his hand.

Galadriel chuckled lightly at that and continued on the line, to Boromir, the man looking down as though expecting to be passed over, "To you, Boromir, I offer this," she gestured to her side as an elf stepped up with a belt made of pure gold, with leaves shaped into it, handing it to him, "May it remind you of the weight you carry, but also of the importance and value you hold within."

Boromir looked at her, startled at her words, his eyes wide, his mouth just starting to hang open. But the Lady merely gave him a kind smile and a nod, moving on before Boromir could speak, till she came to a stop before Menna herself.

However shocked Boromir had looked, it was nothing compared to how startled Menna felt when the Lady smiled at her, "To you, young one," she let out a soft laugh at the expression Menna tried very hard to keep at bay at being called 'young one,' but it was true, she was the youngest member of the group, even Pippin beating her in age. Galadriel turned to take a small bundle of cloth from an elf to pass to Menna herself. She watched as Menna's expression changed from confusion at the odd feel of the bundle, to realization, as the girl quickly pulled back one end of the top bundle…to reveal a set of beautifully crafted knives, ten in all.

Menna looked up at her in shock at the priceless gift. It was more than she had ever expected when she saw the woman giving out gifts to the others. She had not expected anything at all, let alone something so valuable. Not just in usefulness, but in sheer value. If the necklace Aragorn wore was worth a few year of sustenance for her, this…this would keep her well fed the rest of her life. Not that she felt she would pawn it off unless she was truly desperate, not after what she had experienced on this quest, not after imagining the knives she was likely to go through before it was over.

"I do not know what to say," Menna murmured, touched.

She could just about see Aragorn smirking beside her at her words, it was not often she found herself without a comment to make.

Galadriel reached out to tilt her head up, to look into her eyes with the same kind and gentle smile, "You have much to offer on this journey. Do not let your fears distract you nor make you forget your strength"

Menna could only nod at that, watching as Galadriel moved to the last in the line, Aragorn. She knew she should join the others back down at the boats, but she could not stand to have the knives just held in hand. She had learned early on to never have anything of value left loose, always have it packed away and kept close. She hardly ever let her pack out of her sight for fear of it being destroyed or stolen, it was all she had in the world. She would not feel right until she had securely placed the knives into her bag…it might just take a bit of rearranging before she could get it to fit. So she moved to her knee, only having taken a few steps away and began to rummage in her pack, doing her best to ignore what the Lady and Aragorn were discussing beside her.

"I have nothing greater to give than the gift you already bear," Galadriel spoke, reaching out to touch the necklace Aragorn wore, before continuing in her native tongue.

Aragorn responded in kind.

"The choice is yet before her," Galadriel seemed to reassure him, her expression growing sad, but understanding, "YOU have your own choice to make, Aragorn. Not just to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendi, or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin. There is more you have yet to decide. Do not let what has already come to pass prevent you from forging new paths. Do not let the perceived pain of others cause you to pain yourself. Happiness is too precious to be forsaken."

There was another murmur in Elvish, before the Lady pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.

Aragorn gave her a respectful nod of his head as she stepped away to join her husband, and turned to head to the boats. He paused by Menna's side, reaching out a hand to help her up as she worked to close up her pack, her knives now safely tucked within. She took his hand and let him help her to her feet, the two moving to join the others by the boats.

"I did not take you to vie for a claimed woman," Menna remarked.

Aragorn's head snapped to look at her, utterly confused, "I do not follow."

She smirked at him and reached out to touch his necklace pendant a moment, "The Lady Galadriel seemed quite _familiar_ …"

"It is not like that, she is…" Aragorn began to defend…before he saw Menna's expression, how she was barely holding back laughter, and found himself smiling as he realized she'd been teasing him, "You are a menace."

Menna let out a loud laugh, "Menna the Menace, I like that."

Aragorn just shook his head at her as they reached the others.

~8~

Menna found herself in a boat with Aragorn and Frodo when they left Lothlorien, the Lady Galadriel having waved them off as they headed down the River Anduin. She sat at the head of the boat the Lady had provided, one of three, with Aragorn behind and Frodo between. Gimli and Legolas were in another boat with Sam, while Merry and Pippin travelled with Boromir.

She took a very deep breath, closing her eyes just a moment to enjoy the light on her skin. While Lothlorien was beautiful, there was still so many trees that, sometimes, it felt like only the moonlight could make its way through the leaves. It was nice to feel the sun, unfiltered by the treetops or the magic of the woods. It had been quite a while that they had been drifting down the river, a quiet among them as there was not much conversation to be had across the boats unless they shouted. Even to each other on the same boat, with the sounds of the river around them, it was difficult to hear at times.

She opened her eyes, frowning when she caught sight of a flock of birds, black as death, flying in the skies above them, as though following them. She looked over her shoulder at Aragorn to see that he too was eyeing the birds warily. He glanced at her and then to the other boats, calling something in Elvish over to Legolas, before leading the boats to the side of the river to rest after the long and weary journey they'd taken since departing Lothlorien.

They made quick work of setting up camp, securing watch, and getting food in the stomachs of the Hobbits, so quick that, before they knew it, night was upon them. Menna was sitting at the water's edge, looking out at the stars above them, with her head tilted, searching them for familiar patterns she could recall from her childhood.

"Aragorn," she looked over to see Boromir quickly approaching Aragorn, who appeared to have been about to join her at the banks when Boromir caught him. The man pointed at something across the river and Menna turned to look in that direction, squinting in the night.

But she could make out what had alarmed Boromir so, there was some sort of creature moving at the edge of the water on the other side, pale with shining, large eyes that reflected the moonlight before it disappeared behind a tree.

"Gollum," Aragorn answered, "He has tracked us since Moria. I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he's too clever a waterman."

"And if he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts?" Boromir argued, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, making it clear what he thought they should do, "It will make the crossing even more dangerous. Minas Tirith is the safer road. You _know_ that. From there we can regroup. Strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

Aragorn shook his head, "There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us."

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves!" Boromir hissed, "Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is _courage_ also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that!" he reached out to grab Aragorn's arm as the man attempted to continue on his path, yanking him back and holding his arm so he could speak his piece, "You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows. Scared of who you are, of what you are."

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn told him firmly, wrenching his arm out of Boromir's grip and stalking onward.

Menna hummed to herself as he half fell to the sand beside her, letting out a grunt as he did so.

"Have you some comment to make as well?" Aragorn asked, looking back over his shoulder to see Boromir glaring at him before the man stomped back to the camp, "Some village or city you think we should take the ring instead of Mordor?"

"Not as such, no," Menna commented, the two of them falling silent for a long while before she spoke again, "I think you are right."

"Oh?"

"Not about being king of Gondor," she continued, nudging him slightly in the arm with a small smile, "I still do not believe you are the heir to the crown. But…perhaps they ARE your people," she could at least believe that, that Aragorn's family might have come from Gondor, "You care for them a great deal if you would rather do anything than let the darkness that is the Ring go near its realm."

"If Gondor falls, if it falls because of the Ring, there will be no stronghold left in all of Middle Earth capable of facing Sauron."

"I think you ought give more credit to the people of Middle Earth," she remarked, "But I do see your point. No one wants to see their home fall to darkness, even if it is a home you have not seen before."

Aragorn looked at her a moment, "When first we met, you said just that, that your home had fallen to darkness, that you would not wish others to lose their home the same way."

"I did."

"Is that the only reason you wish to take part in this quest?" he asked, not out of a disbelief or suspicion, but…a queer feeling that had risen within him, a desire to know more about her, about her mysterious past, and what could have happened to her to create the woman sitting beside him.

Menna sighed and looked at the stars, "I failed my home, and I failed the people I loved. I was not strong enough to stop the darkness. If I can do this…" she shook her head, "Perhaps it will one day prove I was not such a disgrace."

"You left your home when you were but a child," Aragorn argued, knowing enough of that from discussions with her and what Gandalf revealed to him in confidence.

Menna looked over at him, a sad smile on her face, "Even a child can still do their duty. I did not. And that is a burden I must bear the rest of my days, it is something I will never cease to try and make penance for," she took a deep breath, gazing at the sky once more before shaking her head, "We all have our duty," she offered him one more smile before standing, patting his arm as she headed back to the camp, leaving Aragorn to his thoughts once more.

Menna sat down on a log near the fire Gimli had started, looking around at the Hobbits and other members of the company as they gathered. None of them appeared to be able or about to sleep, not that she could possibly blame them for that. The woods they found themselves in held none of the safety that Lothlorien had, there were no immortal elves walking in large numbers, no mass amounts of soldiers to guard their perimeter, no magic to surround them. It was going to be difficult to get used to sleeping in such tense conditions once again. Even before Lothlorien, there had been a sense of protection given by Gandalf and his magic, but that would never be again.

She couldn't help but look at the Halflings especially. Dwarves were a hardy race, Elves more secure in their immortality and having decades or centuries to perfect their fighting, Men brave and choosing the life of a sword. Hobbits? Not in all her travels could she recall tell of a Hobbit wielding a weapon or taking part in such a dangerous quest. Frodo had mentioned something about an uncle of his who had made it to Erebor, but she doubted what was faced on that quest was more dangerous than this one, where Sauron himself was after them.

They all looked so frightened, and Frodo so weighed down by it all. He looked so tired and weary even having not left Lothlorien that long ago. Sam was trying to keep a brave face, latched onto Frodo's side and fretting over him. Merry and Pippin were stationed together as well, Merry looking far too serious than a Hobbit should and Pippin, poor Pippin, he looked like he expected an Orc to jump out at him at any moment. This wouldn't do, the Halflings were scared half to death and if they couldn't rest, they wouldn't be able to keep their strength up and all the time they'd spent in Lothlorien would be for nothing.

She glanced over at the others, most looking unaffected, though Boromir still looked rather irate at his conversation with Aragorn.

She smiled.

That would do quite nicely.

"Boromir!" she called, rising quickly and dusting off her leggings as she faced him, "I am sad to say that I have not been able to witness your skill with a sword," she began, "I have seen Aragorn's, Gimli with his axe, and Legolas with his bow, even the Halflings and their daggers, yet your skill alludes me."

Boromir gave her an odd look at that, thrown by her sudden speech, "You were standing just there when I attacked that creature in the lake with my sword."

She hummed, "No, can't quite say I recall that," she remarked, "And it was chaos within the Mines, I cannot seem to note any Orcs that were slain by you. It makes me question your skill with the sword."

Boromir glowered at her, "I shall have you know that my skill is not to be matched."

She smirked at that, "Would you care to prove it?"

"How?" he snorted, before laughing as a thought struck him, "You wish to duel me?"

"If that is what it shall take, then by all means," Menna invited, "Aragorn, might I borrow your sword?"

"My sword would be too heavy for you to stand a fair chance," Aragorn stated as he rejoined them at the fire, having heard her speaking and come to try and stop her, but been too late.

"You can use mine," Legolas offered, pulling his lighter, Elven-made sword from its sheath and handing it to Menna to try out.

She was sure a part of his offering his sword as not just the kindness of his heart but a bit of leftover ire at her butchering of the Elvish language some weeks ago. Still, she was not about to turn down the offer when it would disrupt her plans.

"Lifil," she spoke as she took the sword.

"I beg your pardon?" Legolas frowned, not sure she'd spoken in any language of Middle Earth just then.

She looked at him, "Is that not how to say thank you in your tongue?"

"You mean Le Fael?"

"That is what I said."

Legolas opened his mouth as though to say that was not at all what she had said but shook his head, not wishing to hear her awful twisting of such a beautiful language again. Aragorn, however, chuckled, having taught her that word as they'd begun to try and teach her Elvish while in Lothlorien.

"Well then," Menna turned to Boromir, "Come on, have at it."

Boromir looked to Aragorn a moment, not sure if this was truly happening or if he should follow through, but the man could only shrug. He let out a sigh and took a stance a few feet away from the others so as not to harm them with their spar.

Menna moved across from him, readying herself as well.

And, within moments, Boromir had struck out at her, forcing her to defend herself…

And end up flat on her back with an 'oomph' not even ten seconds later, the air knocked out of her and her sword a good few feet away.

There was dead silence for a moment.

"I think you've broken my arse."

And that was all it took from Menna to have Pippin bursting with laughter, quickly followed by the others.

Menna twisted on the ground to look at the others, somewhat upside down given her position, and smiled widely at how powerfully they were chuckling. Her smile widened at that, looking back only when a hand was thrust in front of her face, reaching out so Boromir could help her up.

"If I had known you possessed no skill with a sword, I would have gone easier," he stated, though there was a bit of mirth in his eyes as she tried to wipe at the back of her clothing.

"What says I cannot use a sword?" she tried to counter, but her smirk gave her away.

Boromir actually snorted, "I know skill and you possess none of it, lest not with a sword."

She shrugged, moving to pick up her fallen blade to return to Legolas, "I admit I do not."

"Why would you fight him if you knew you would lose?" Frodo asked, drawing her attention back over to the others.

"Entertainment," she answered, moving to sit, quite gingerly, on the log she'd sat at before, "Are you not entertained?"

That just sent them into another round of laughter, Menna joining in on their chuckles, before her gaze caught Aragorn's in the firelight.

The man wasn't laughing as loudly or boisterously as the others, but he certainly seemed amused. She sent him a wink, which did earn her a laugh this time as he shook his head at her. It was not common, to humiliate oneself with a display of their utter lack of skill in a subject, but she knew, quite well from experience, that it would earn a laugh from the others and set them more at ease, at least for this one night.

And that was enough for her.

~8~

The next morning, the Company continued on their journey, Menna unable to help but notice the trees that surrounded the banks of the river, how they were slowly growing from a healthy green to brown and withered. That was never a good sign, but even now it meant they were growing farther and farther away from the safety of the Elves and the magic that held the darkness at bay, farther away from good coverage too.

There was, however, one sight of true awe that comforted her. They had reached the Pillars of the Kings, two enormous rock statues, easily 300 feet tall, standing on either side of the river, carved to look like Gondorian kings. They were fit at the ends of the mountain, their left arms held out, palms facing the boats, warning them to stay away. But they could not turn back now.

"Frodo," Aragorn called softly behind her, "The Argonath...long have I desired to look upon the kings of old...my kin."

Menna smiled to herself as she looked upon them as well, not needing to turn back to know the look on Aragorn's face. She could hear it in his voice, a wistfulness, a vulnerability, a longing, a desire that had not been met, but a familiarity that could not be forgotten. She had seen that same look in her reflection over the years, the few times she allowed herself to think of her home.

"There," Aragorn called to the others a moment after they had passed the statues, able to see a large lake about a mile downstream, "We make camp!"

Menna nodded, helping him row the rest of the way, passing the foot of Amon Hen, down past to the beaches of Parth Galen. She hopped out of the boat quickly once they were nearer the sands, helping Aragorn pull it the rest of the way to shore and helping Frodo out and to the land afterwards.

Aragorn looked at the others as they brought up their boats as well, "We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" Gimli snorted, "It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands far as the eye can see."

"Gimli," Menna called, a sharp note in her voice as she noticed the Hobbits, namely Pippin, starting to look quite alarmed and frightened by his words. It was a dangerous quest, of course, and the Halflings should not be coddled, no, but that did not mean Gimli or any other had to make sound even worse.

"That is our road," Aragorn spoke, "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my…" Gimli huffed at that and turned to storm away and angrily begin to set up camp.

Legolas stepped over to him, his eyes on the forest around them, "We should leave now."

Aragorn shook his head, "No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. I can feel it."

"If it weighs on your mind, it will weigh on theirs eventually," Menna murmured, looking at the Hobbits, Pippin still seemed quite on edge, "Shall I challenge Boromir to another duel?" she asked, "Try to put them in better spirits?"

She looked around for a moment, about to call out to the human no matter what Aragorn and Legolas thought…when she stilled and tensed.

"Aragorn…" she called.

"Aye?" he turned to her.

Before she could answer, Merry returned with a small armful of kindling, looking around himself, "Where's Frodo?"

Menna shook her head, noticing not just that but a familiar shield and pack resting on the ground with its owner nowhere in sight, "What's more…" she looked at Aragorn, trying to keep her voice low and cautious, "Where is Boromir?"

A/N: Ooh...we're getting to it now! :D So a lot I want to touch on about this chapter.

Firstly, the fight with Boromir, I laughed SO HARD writing it, because it was the shortest fight scene ever. She really is terrible with a sword lol. I wanted to add that in because when I was researching things for this story, one thing that seemed to come up was how an OC can sometimes end up besting someone in battle, whether it's archery with Legolas or swords with Aragorn or Boromir and I was really happy because Menna was not like that at all. And I really wanted to showcase that fact but in a small way. She goes into the challenge knowing she's going to get her butt kicked, but doing it because it'll make the others laugh. She's not some super warrior, she really only has skills in being sneaky and in knives. She's not a trained warrior but just has some skill she's spent years working on and little else :)

Next, Galadriel's gifts. I debated whether to add that entire scene in, but I felt like if I didn't, it would just end up sounding like Galadriel was singling out Menna to give her a gift, like she'd be getting special treatment, and I didn't want that. I also feel like it would help set up and explain things later in the story. Galadriel, especially with Aragorn, isn't just talking about having strength with the quest, to resist the Ring, but also to be open to new things. Arwen is her granddaughter, so I can't imagine she would want Arwen to stay on Middle Earth, separated from family, and die in mourning over anyone, even Aragorn. Part of what she says is with the hopes that, if Aragorn is truly able to let go of Arwen, that Arwen will be able to let go of him and stay with her people. Another part is, happiness will be very hard to find on the quest and Aragorn is a good person who deserves happiness, he needs to be open to finding it even if it's not with Arwen. I tried to make it a subtle sort of thing where Menna won't understand, and maybe Aragorn won't at first, but the readers sort of get the feeling she's trying to let him know it's ok if he chooses someone else besides Arwen. Not sure if it worked :/

I also wanted to add in a little more Aragorn/Menna discussion here. It seems he's sort of seeking out her company ;) Whether he realizes it or not, we'll have to wait and see ;) ;) There'll be plenty more where that comes from ;)

And now, for the winning pairing name for Aragorn and Menna...the poll results are in and the winner is...Menara! Woo! The official pairing name is Menara! :D

Some notes on reviews...

I'm really glad that Menna was able to put a new perspective on things :) Whether she would have been right about how Aragorn's legacy would go isn't as big as realizing what she spoke of was a possibility he hadn't given thought to :)

We'll have to wait and see what Menna's history is like ;) I can say that before the series is over, Aragorn will know everything about her ;)

Lol, nope, Nameless King it is not ;)


	8. Guardian

Guardian

Menna carefully made her way through the wooded area they had set down in. They had split up, she, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas in order to search for Boromir and Frodo. Gimli had been chosen to stay behind with the other Halflings, something none of them were happy with. Gimli was especially displeased to be 'left behind' as though his skills would not be useful in finding the two missing members of the Company. Aragorn had quieted the Dwarf down with a very stern remark about how someone needed to remain behind with the others. If they were all just making large of something so small as Frodo and Boromir having just wandered, it would not do to leave the others to wander as well. And if there was any danger, if foul deeds were at play and Frodo had been taken from them, or the Ring had ensnared Boromir to attack, they were all at risk and the others needed to be protected.

Legolas had added his own remark about how Gimli was the least quiet among them and if they required stealth or to sneak upon an enemy, Gimli would undoubtedly be heard.

She was sure she would have found amusement in the way Gimli had muttered curses in his own language under his breath had the situation not been so serious.

It was true, they did not know what they would come upon in the woods, but the way Frodo and Boromir had both disappeared so quickly was worrying. She was of the mind that Frodo had likely wandered off, just needing a moment of peace and tranquility in the forest. He seemed a gentle and calm soul and she knew that she found a special serenity in the woods herself. Being so surrounded at all times, knowing people had pledged their lives to your survival…it was not be an easy burden to bear.

She prayed to whatever powers there were at work in the world that Boromir had merely gone ahead to scout the woods. None of them had seen either Frodo or Boromir when they departed, they could not say if Boromir had disappeared first, or if he had followed Frodo. If it was the second situation, she would still hope that he had gone to make sure Frodo was looked after and protected. These were dangerous times, Orcs were sure to be close and following them, Boromir could have very well gone to keep the Hobbit safe.

But she had learned enough in her time in this world that to hope and to know were two very different things. She could hope all she wanted, for many things, but it rarely ever changed the reality of a situation. Hope could not fill an empty belly, hope could not stave off the frigid cold, and hope could not replace that which was lost. Action could. Only action would determine what was happening, and so she, Aragorn, and now Legolas were going to find them. One to the left, one on the right, and one ahead.

Samwise was just as furious as Gimli to be told to stay behind, though twice as distraught. The poor lad was beating himself up about not keeping a closer eye on his friend. The other Halflings were not in any better state, Merry and Pippin vouching for Boromir, trying to plead that he wouldn't have done anything to hurt Frodo. The two looked up to him, and not just in a physical sense, but he had taken an interest in them, tried to teach them defense, made them laugh, looked after them. It would break their hearts, she knew, if they did find Boromir in a compromising position, if he was threatening Frodo or anything of the sort.

So they needed to find him.

She shook her head, focusing on the moment, on the sounds around her, the placement of the plants. She looked carefully at every branch and twig, looking for any that might be broken and symbolize that someone had passed through recently. Her eyes flickered back and forth from that to the ground, it was soft, but undisturbed, no footprints to be seen. She kept her ears trained for any sort of sound, any crunch of dirt, breaking twigs, clang of metal, anything that might sound like a shout or call for help.

But there was nothing.

She closed her eyes a moment, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself. It would do no one any good if she panicked now, she needed to be calm, steady, and strong. She took another breath and opened her eyes, starting to move through the woods once more, just a little slower than before. Move too fast and it was possible to miss something under the soft crunching of her own boots. Sometimes, being slow was all that was needed to reach the reward, startle the deer and it would mean no meat. But sneak up on it, tempt it, slowly approach…it could mean all the difference in the world and this was far more important than any hunt for food.

She stilled suddenly, her head snapping to the side as she thought she heard something and began to breathe as quietly as she could. Holding her breath, she'd learned, did nothing but make her heart sound in her ears which was serving no one. She remained frozen, her senses attuned to the woods, to the sounds of nature…and that was when she heard it again.

A crackling noise ahead.

One that certainly wasn't made by anything natural to this forest.

She shook her head and hurried in that direction, being sure to move as carefully as possible, her gaze darting from the foliage to the ground, not daring to risk stepping on a branch or rustling the bushes too much.

"…wander alone," a voice was saying as she drew nearer, "You least of all."

Menna pressed herself against the back of a large tree, bracing herself and using it to steady herself as she carefully turned. She rested a hand to the trunk and leaned to peer around the edge of it. She let out a breath of relief to see Frodo and Boromir before her. Frodo did appear wary, but he often was whenever anyone who wasn't a fellow Halfling approached him alone. Boromir held a pile of wood in his arms, clearly having done just as Merry had and gone to gather firewood for them to use.

They were standing before what appeared to be an old, stone monument. It was tall, almost like a small temple, with stairs leading up to a set of walls, though the walls were crumbled and destroyed. Ivy and other plants had begun to grow around it, showing the true testament of its age. Long had this area been abandoned and forgotten for nature to reclaim it so. The rough edges of the stone had been worn down with time, overgrown as the rest of it was.

"So much depends on you, Frodo," Boromir was speaking, had been the one talking before as well.

Menna shifted a little more, facing fully forward as she leaned over more to see what was happening. She didn't want to rush in there if Boromir was truly just talking to Frodo, it would not do well to create even more tension among the Company than she already had. Aragorn had not reacted well to her warnings to keep Frodo away from Boromir, if she appeared now, as tense as she was, he would know what she assumed of him, it would not make things better.

But…if Boromir fell to the temptation of the Ring, she did not just want to walk away. Frodo may be grown according to his people, but he was still much smaller than Boromir and if the man was truly driven to take the Ring, he could easily overpower the Halfling.

"I know why you seek solitude," Boromir continued, Frodo looking at the man with even more caution than before, "You suffer, I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?"

Menna swallowed hard at that, carefully crouching down, her hand sliding into her boot and pulling one of her knives from within, her other hand going to her waist to pull another knife from her belt. She had prepared herself quickly when she, Aragorn, and Legolas departed camp, two of her mismatched knives in her boots, two at her waist. She gripped them tightly as she straightened, not liking where this conversation was going. She had to lean in even more to hear what Boromir said next, he spoke so quietly it was nearly drowned out by the sound of the waters and falls nearby.

"Let me help you," Boromir pleaded, "There are other ways, Frodo…other paths that we might take."

Frodo stood strong against the man, his shoulders squared, his chin up despite the tremble Menna could hear in his voice as he refused, "I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart."

"Warning?" Boromir countered, a laugh in his voice that unsettled Menna to hear, "Against what?"

Menna looked around, not sure what she should do. She was sure if she stepped out now, even with Boromir's back to her, Frodo would see her. And with how Boromir was speaking, the Halfling would have no reason to think she was there to help. Instead he might fear she was of the same path as Boromir and wished to take the Ring from him as well. While Boromir had not acted yet, his words were a clear indication of his intentions, he wanted Frodo to give him the Ring.

She had never been in a situation like this, where she truly had to consider what her next move would be. She had never relied on anyone in all the years she'd been alone, she had never had a partner out there among the wild. She relied on herself, she trusted her instincts, she learned from her mistakes. She used her sleight of hand and pick-pocketing more than resorting to lures and bait and tricks. She was careful and she worried about herself. Right now she had to choose between sneaking up on Boromir now, risking Frodo fleeing and alerting Boromir to her presence, or waiting for the right time to stop him and risk Frodo getting caught in the crossfire. If Frodo fled, she didn't doubt Boromir would lunge after him, try to hurt him…

"We are all afraid, Frodo," Boromir added, taking a step towards the Hobbit, only for Frodo to step back, "But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have...don't you see that is madness?"

"There is no other way," Frodo insisted.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir suddenly snapped, dropping the wood he'd been holding, "If you would but lend me the Ring…"

"No," Frodo shook his head, quickly stepping back from Boromir.

"Why do you recoil?" Boromir spoke, though his voice sounded more like a sneer, "I am no thief."

Menna shook her head, unable to remain hidden any longer, the way Boromir spoke, it was not him any longer, a sentiment Frodo seemed to pick up on as well for he called out, "You are not yourself!"

Menna spun around the side of the tree, into the open, and hurried towards them, Boromir now in a position to block her from Frodo's sight.

"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir scoffed at the lad, "They will find you, they will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end. You fool! It is not yours save by unhappy chance...it might have been mine. It _should_ be mine. Give it to me! _Give me the Ring_!"

Just as Boromir moved to leap at Frodo, he fell to the ground with a howl of pain.

Frodo's gaze instantly drew to the small knife in the back of Boromir's leg and up to Menna as she rushed for them.

"Frodo, run!" she called, knowing that a man like Boromir would not be down for long, not in his state, the anger and the pain would only fuel his strength and feed the darkness that had possessed him more, "Go! Fly, Frodo!"

Frodo did not need to be told again as he turned and dashed into the woods.

"No!" Boromir shouted, not even bothering to pull the knife from his leg as he scrambled to his feet, making a swing in the direction Frodo had gone, but Menna had not stopped her run and slammed into him, sending him toppling to the ground near the ruins.

"Boromir, stop this madness!" Menna struggled, trying to keep him down as long as she could to give Frodo and his small legs a chance to get further away.

"He will take the Ring to Sauron!" Boromir hissed, turning with a hard backhand to her face, sending her reeling to the side with a cry of pain.

Menna gasped, pressing a hand to her cheek as Boromir stood, drawing his sword as he stared down at her, his face contorted in a disgusted sneer, "He will betray us all!" he lifted the sword to swing it down at her, but she rolled to the side, managing to avoid it.

"Frodo would never!" she argued, knowing that if she stopped talking, he would turn his focus back to Frodo.

She could not let him get to the Halfling if it was the last thing she did, not just to keep Frodo and the Ring safe but she knew in her heart that this truly _was not_ Boromir before her. She had had her misgivings at first, but hearing him speak to Aragorn, seeing his fear laid bare, she knew he would hate himself if ever he did anything to harm the Ring Bearer. If she could just stop him long enough for his wits to return...

Boromir let out an angry cry and swung at her again, but she managed to turn once more, and kick out her foot at the leg she had managed to stab, sending him to his knee.

She scrambled to her feet, swaying just a moment from the pounding in her head from his previous hit, and kicked as hard as she could at the sword in his hand, getting him to drop the weapon and she kicked it away.

Boromir merely started laughing darkly at her, "Then he goes to his death!" he spat, "And the death of us all. I will not let the last chance of my people be destroyed!"

Menna gripped the second knife in her left hand tightly as Boromir moved to his feet and lunged at her. She swung the knife, slicing across his cheek, further enraging him as he grabbed her arm when she tried to do it again. She let out a cry of pain as he twisted her arm painfully, dragging her closer to the ruins as he turned to slam her wrist into the corner of its stone wall till she dropped her blade. He threw her to the ground, striding over to her and kicking her in the ribs as she tried to roll away from him, unable to do so fast enough.

"Boromir this is not you!" she tried to tell him as he stumbled back, having kicked at her with his wounded leg, "This is but the darkness of the Ring. Fight it!"

Boromir reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her head back to look at him, "I will finish you and then I will finish him."

He suddenly cried out in pain, dropping her as she had been able to pull the last blade of her belt out and slice at the side of his wrist. She turned on her back, bracing herself against the stone and kicked out with all her might, hitting Boromir in the chest and sending him falling back onto a set of stone steps, the wind knocked out of him, his head hitting the edge of the steps as well.

She panted, watching him closely, as he struggled to right himself, seeming disoriented from the fall…before he began to shake and tremble, his body jerking in the throes of a fit of some sort. She winced as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, an arm immediately moving to her ribs as they ached, her other beating a fist into the stone as she closed her eyes at the pain for just a moment, not trusting the situation enough to take her eyes off Boromir for long. She did not know what was happening to him, but if he was getting worse, if this was a sign of the darkness truly taking him over, she needed to be aware and ready to flee. She was not strong or skilled enough to take him on again, nor take him out. Distract him, yes, but not stop him.

She took as deep a breath as she could, opening her eyes to look over at him as he blinked rapidly, looking around now as though disoriented and unsure of what had happened.

"Frodo?" he gasped, "What…Menna?" he spotted her, bruised and battered before him and looked down at his ungloved hands, his knuckles caked with blood and aching from what he knew only came from striking something else. He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears as he took in the sight of her, a pit forming in his stomach as he realized…he had done this to her, there was no one else there who could have, "What have I done?"

She swallowed hard, wincing and instantly spitting a wad of blood to the side, not wanting to actually swallow it, before moving to sit on her heels, kneeling there and shaking her head, "You fought off the darkness."

His throat clenched, bile rising in him, "I gave in," he argued.

"Frodo is away," Menna reassured him, "He still possesses the Ring, you did not take it from him. You did not harm him."

"I harmed _you_ instead."

"I put myself in the way," she reminded him, not sure how much he actually remembered, "It was not you, Boromir."

"It was," he sounded so broken, so regretful, "I gave in…"

"The darkness is tempting, it is hard to fight, but you _came back_ from it," she insisted, "And now you know how to fight it, should it arise to tempt you again."

She winced, pulling herself to her feet and stepped over to him, holding out a hand to him, "Come," she offered, "We need to make sure Frodo made it back to the camp."

She truly hoped Frodo had had the sense to run back to the others and not farther out into the woods. She hadn't had the time to check which direction he fled in, needing to keep Boromir occupied. He would be safe with the others, she knew, had hoped he would have the sense and care to want to warn the others that Boromir had seemed to turn on them, but...now that she had a moment to think, she feared he had gone in a different direction, fearing the others might take the Ring like Boromir had. They needed to go, the sooner the better.

Boromir stared at her hand a long while then up at her face, before pushing himself up, unwilling to take her offered hand, knowing it would cause her too much pain to lift him up when she was so wounded. He turned, truly taking stock of what he'd done, "I am so sorry…"

She let out a breath, looking down to see that, at some point when he'd fallen to the steps, the knife that had been in his leg had dislodged and fallen to the stone. She leaned down to pick it up, wiping the blood off on her legging and waving it weakly at him, "I got a blow or two in."

Boromir gave a weak, short laugh at that, shaking his head. He reached out to touch her face, but she flinched away. It was already swelling on the one side, bruising, her lip split, a shadow already growing under her eye, another scratch along the other side of her forehead from where she'd probably hit the ground from the blow. His gaze fell to the ground in shame, spotting something glinting a few feet away, one of Menna's knives and reached down to retrieve it for her. He had seen her wince and her pained grimace just at picking up the knife just before, he would spare her any more pain if he could.

He nodded to himself as he held out the knife to her to take back, "We need to make for camp," he agreed, both because he needed to apologize to Frodo, to swear his loyalty over again, and…and to see to Menna's wounds.

Wounds _he_ had inflicted.

He did not think anything he could possibly do would ever be enough to make amends.

~8~

Frodo had not gone far, or at least he had not gone as far as he was sure Menna had hoped. He had made for the woods, but he could still hear Boromir shouting…and then Menna was screaming and he just _couldn't_ …he couldn't keep running when she might be in danger. She had put herself between him and Boromir to save him but no one was there to save _her_. He could not let her be harmed for him, not from another who had sworn to protect him with their life, it was not fair. So he had made his way back, coming upon the back of the ruins he'd been at before, out of sight, silent despite the size of his feet. He had climbed up the back, peering down to try and see what was happening.

It made his stomach churn in such despair to see the state Menna was in. He had not seen what happened, arriving only after Boromir seemed to have come back to his senses, lying on the steps of the ruins with Menna on all fours before him, struggling to pull herself up. He watched, intently, Sting, his dagger, clenched firmly in his hand if Boromir was still under the hold of the Ring and about to attack Menna again. He did not know what he would do exactly, be it to jump off the top and hope he landed on Boromir or try to throw the dagger at him like Menna threw her knives, but he would do something to protect her.

Luck seemed to smile on them for Boromir appeared sedate, changed, confused and wretched about what had happened. Menna, bless her heart, had tried to reassure him that it was the Ring and not himself that had attacked. He wasn't sure how much he believed of that, having been so wary of Boromir since the start of the quest, hearing him speaking of using the Ring even back in Rivendell. He watched as the two began to head back in the direction of camp, hoping he was there but he knew in his heart he could never return.

If Boromir could turn on him so easily, what of the others? No one at the council of Elrond had truly seemed decided to destroy it but Gandalf. Who would be next? Gimli? The one of the species said to covet gold and jewels and treasure? Bilbo had told him of Erebor, what had first attracted the dragon Smaug there being the hordes of treasure the king had been keeping within, unwilling to part with. Would Gimli turn out the same?

Or Legolas? The elf whose home was already in danger from spiders and a lack of will in his father to help? Bilbo had told him of that as well, of the Mirkwood and how it was becoming overrun with darkness that the Elven King did nothing to stop. Would Legolas take the Ring in order to usurp his father and rule his people?

He did not even want to imagine what he would do if it was one of his friends, Pippin or Merry or Sam. And Aragorn? He had seemed the most afraid of the Ring, but would that fear soon turn to a desire? Would Menna try to take the Ring from him too? Was this all just a ploy to gain his trust so she could steal it again?

He shook his head, these thoughts would help no one and do nothing but cause him delay. He needed to leave, he needed to leave while the others were distracted and get as far away from them as he could.

He pushed himself up and frantically made his way down the many steps, tripping on a set in his haste and tumbling down onto the grass below…just as someone appeared in the corner of his eye, Aragorn.

"Frodo?" Aragorn breathed, glancing around for the source of his fright. He had heard a scream, Menna's scream he was sure of it, and run as fast as he could to get there from where he had been searching for the Halfling, only to find Frodo and no one else.

Frodo closed his eyes, trying to hide the fear he felt as he pushed himself to stand and face Aragorn, face another person who might become too tempted by the Ring, "The Ring took Boromir."

"Where is the Ring?" Aragorn asked, his voice full of urgency as he took a step closer…only for Frodo to jerk back quite a few steps in utter terror, startling him into stillness.

"Stay away!" Frodo cried.

Aragorn held up his hands in peace, "Frodo…did he get the Ring?"

Frodo eyed him a moment before shaking his head, "Menna stopped him."

"Menna?" Aragorn's eyes widened, now knowing his ears had not been playing tricks on him, but it truly _had_ been Menna that had screamed before.

Frodo sniffled at that, his face scrunched as he recalled that terrifying moment, seeing him running at him then falling and Menna shouting at him to run. He couldn't erase the image from his mind of the state she'd been in when he returned. Her face, bruised and bloodied, her arm wrapped around her middle, how it seemed to pain her to breathe. Even her arm looked a right state, purpling near the wrist, her shoulder red and swelling. He didn't know if she used both arms to throw her knives, but her left arm would be useless for a while without treatment he knew.

"Frodo," Aragorn spoke again, his voice just a little more strained, though the concern in it was clear, "Where is she? Where is Menna? Where has Boromir gone?"

Frodo looked at him, blinking back his tears, "She stopped him," he repeated, "She got hurt, but she stopped him. He…" he shook his head, not truly knowing what to say or how to say it, "He seems to have returned to himself but…they are both in a state."

Aragorn let out a breath of relief at that, closing his eyes for just a moment. When Frodo had said that Menna had stopped Boromir, his mind had flashed to too many ways she could have. He felt a fear grip his heart in a way he wasn't familiar with. It felt like his heart had ceased beating until Frodo said she lived still.

It was understandable though, he told himself, Menna, while fierce and brave, was small. Boromir was nearly twice her size and all muscle, advanced in his training, and brutal in combat. Menna had already proven her skills with a sword minimal at best, and she had left her pack at camp, such was her fear for Frodo. She only had the knives he'd seen her place in her boots and belt to help her. If she ran out of them, if they were out of reach, there was no telling what lengths Boromir would have gone to get through her and after Frodo.

From what Frodo said of her…she was not in a good way at the moment. He could only imagine the damage Boromir might have done to her compared to the small hits she might have landed on him. He needed to find them both, make sure Menna was well, decide what to do about Boromir. He could not be trusted, not anymore, not now that he had given into the Ring and attacked another member of the Company over it. But Menna…he could feel himself already cataloging the numerous plants they had passed, noting their properties and which could help him tend to her wounds, whatever they may be.

"We must make for camp," Aragorn spoke, unintentionally repeating the words Boromir had spoken only moments ago. He took another step towards Frodo, but the Hobbit backed away again, "Frodo…"

Frodo shook his head, "No. I can't. I cannot trust…" he broke before he could finish the sentence, too pained to even complete the shattering realization that he truly could not trust anyone any longer.

"Frodo...I swore to protect you," Aragorn reminded him.

"Can you protect me from yourself?" Frodo demanded, holding out his hand where the Ring laid on his palm, glinting in the sunlight, shining and beautiful. He watched as Aragorn's eyes were drawn right to it, the man slowly making his way closer, not even seeming to notice how the hand holding it was trembling more and more with each step, "Would you destroy it?"

Aragorn stared at the Ring, the Ring of Power, as it was offered to him, freely and willingly. He could almost hear the whispers of it calling to him, tempting him, talking of the power he could have, the ways he could use it to rule Middle Earth, how he could bend the people to his will and…

He blinked rapidly at that, another voice echoing in his mind, a whisper of its own, talking about how king, a true and good king, had to put their people above anything and everything else, no matter what they wanted for themselves.

He shook his head and reached out to curl Frodo's fingers back around the Ring, feeling as though a burden had been lifted from him, a question answered in that moment. He had spent his life wondering if he would ever be as great or good as his ancestors, a good king to his people. He had always felt there was a weakness in his blood, that this Ring tested it. And now he knew, he WAS stronger than the pull of the Ring. He would be a good king, because whatever this Ring promised him, it would harm his people in the end. And a true king put them first. Just as he had done now. And if he could resist the Ring, for his people and himself, then he was strong enough to lead them with a pure heart and good intent.

"I would have gone with you to the end..." he whispered to Frodo, "Into the very fires of Mordor."

He knew, in that moment, what Frodo was trying to tell him. Just because HE could resist the Ring…it didn't mean the others could. He could not offer the Ring to the others as a test, resisting once did not mean resistance would _always_ happen, Boromir had proven it. If Boromir could refuse once and then try to take it later, no matter what reassurance HE felt about himself and the strength he found to resist, Frodo would never be reassured that the true king of Gondor wouldn't try to take it later. Frodo felt, if he could not trust the others with this burden, then he would make the journey alone.

"I know..." Frodo took the Ring back, placing the chain it hung on around his neck, "Look after the others, especially Sam...he will not understand."

Aragorn had just begun to nod when a sound reached him that had him drawing his sword and rushing to his feet, his back to Frodo.

"Go, Frodo!" he shouted, recognizing the noise, the stampeding footsteps, not needing to see Frodo's dagger glowing blue to know danger was coming, "Run! Run!"

Aragorn gripped his sword tightly, hearing Frodo running away, as he stared down at a swarm of Uruk-Hai rushing past the trees...

A/N: Poor Menna :(

I hope I balanced her fight with Boromir well. I wanted to show earlier that she has her strength in knives, the same way Boromir does with a sword, so by challenging him to a sword duel she would, of course, lose. But she does know how to defend herself, she would have needed to be able to to survive as long as she has. She doesn't know enough to be able to actually BEAT Boromir, and I wanted to show her really struggling, getting hurt, not able to stop his attacks fully, but trying her best to at least distract him. Even in any fight, I think with the adrenaline and the instinct that surfaces, she would be able to at least land some sort of blow. Tackle him while he's distracted, swipe at him with her weapon of choice, kick him when she can, anything to try and save herself. But she is very hurt, far more than Boromir is, he did some real damage to her and all he got was maybe a scratch or two from her :( She's not some super warrior who can single-handedly take down a man like Boromir and come out without a scratch :( And, mentality wise, HE is fighting to kill, because she's keeping him from the Ring and he'll go through her if he has to, she's fighting to distract, to defend herself, but not kill him in return because she firmly believes he's in the throes of the darkness and it's not actually HIM in control, so she doesn't want to hurt-hurt him. I wanted to balance it where it shows their skill levels, but also doesn't lead to her getting just pummeled to near death. She's survived in the wild for years, since she was a kid, so she must have SOME sort of survival instincts and self-preservation tactics, but she got very lucky that the hit to his head on the steps seemed to jar him back to normal :(

I also wanted to show Menna's view of the Ring and its temptation. Of the Company, she's the only other person who's had a chance to touch the Ring and be that close to it besides Boromir and Frodo. She's felt that temptation and she had her own doubts about Boromir, but she did get to know him and, hearing about his talks of home and his concern and love for his people, she started to realize she might have judged him too quickly. She understands exactly what that temptation can do, and even Frodo seemed to realize the man trying to take the Ring wasn't the REAL Boromir, but he darkness of the Ring sort of warping him. I think the fact that she can understand the situation is influencing her defense of Boromir. He came back, he didn't get the ring, he didn't hurt Frodo or kill HER, so, to her, he fought the darkness and isn't as guilty as he would be if he had hurt Frodo. It'll, of course, be up to the rest of the Company what punishment he faces or if they never trust him again or forbid him to continue the quest with them/be near Frodo, but in this moment, she feels everyone is safe.

I think it also plays a little to Menna's own sense of worth, which we'll see more in the next chapter. Some characters might be so angry with Boromir and ready to kill him for what he's done, others might be terrified, some might want to rat him out to the others, or run from him, probably some not want to let him get away with it or chastise him for what he did. But Menna, I think, for the brave face she puts on and all the talk about them needing her and her skills, really is covering up a lot. She chose to become Nameless, someone who is the lowest on the totem pole, she has lived on her own for so many years with no one around her to care if she lived or died but herself. And now she's in this Company, and everyone there has sworn their lives to protecting Frodo, sort of reaffirming where she would rate in terms of importance to the Company. THEY are the Company, she's sort of just tagging along. So even there, surrounded by people, she feels she's the least important among them. So if Boromir hurts HER and not Frodo? She doesn't see herself as important enough to rate as a concern. If Boromir hurt Frodo, that is something serious that needs to be punished, but if he hurts her, she's just not important enough :'(

...I wonder if Aragorn will agree with her thoughts ;) ;)

Some notes on reviews...

salut! Je suis très heureux que vous appréciiez les histoires de Doctor Who. J'ai une nouvelle histoire, Intercession, et je suis en train de mettre à jour l'histoire d'Angel. Malheureusement, je ne mettrai pas Evy à jour avant d'avoir rattrapé les autres histoires et d'avoir fait entrer le professeur dans la série 9. Désolé! (I hope that's correct, I used Google Translate. If not, what I was trying to say was: Hello! I am very glad you are enjoying the Doctor Who stories. I have a new story up, Intercession, and am currently updating Angel's story. Unfortunately I won't be updating Evy until I've caught up the other stories and gotten the Professor into Series 9. Sorry!)

I actually have it listed on my profile that, once Calm Before the Storm is finished, I'll be updating Piper's story ;) So we have about 12-13 more chapters of CBTS before we'll get to Piper, but I do fully plan to do Piper's story and alternate between Lyssa and her until Piper's is finished :) Just fair warning though, at the moment I don't have any plans to do Season 7 of OUAT, I just felt like, as a soft-reboot, it just didn't work. Always a chance I'll change my mind, but there may be tweaks and changes in Piper's story that makes that season impossible to occur ;)


	9. The Uruk-Hai

The Uruk-Hai

"Menna!" Pippin gasped as he saw Menna and Boromir stumble back to the camp. He and Merry were on their feet and rushing over to help guide them to the small fire they'd managed to make.

"What happened?" Merry looked them over, alarmed at the state of them, a little more stunned to see Boromir injured as well as he had been a fierce fighter with unmatchable skill with a sword.

Menna looked terrible, though, the side of her face bruised, lip split, clutching her left arm which had swollen slightly with bruises scattered along it. But for as bad as the arm looked, it was tightly gripped around her middle too. She was wheezing, looking like it was quite painful for her to just take a breath.

Boromir looked like he had been in quite the fight as well. He was limping heavily on one leg, swaying on his feet just a bit. As the man had helped hand off Menna to the Hobbits, for she had clearly taken the worst of it, there was a clear cut on the side of his wrist. The man looked like he had been in tears at one point too, his eyes red and shinning in the firelight. He waved them off as they tried to help him sit, gesturing towards Menna instead.

Gimli took one look at them and jumped to his feet, running off into the woods in the direction they'd come from with his axe in hand, snarling something in the language of the Dwarves. Menna could only guess that he thought they had encountered an enemy and been defeated, that he was rushing off to hunt down the being that attacked them himself. She let out a small, almost huffing breath as she watched him go, at least she could count Gimli as something of a friend now. While she was sure the Dwarf would have run off at a moment's notice, having seen Boromir in such a state, she had seen him look at _both_ of them, at Boromir and then her. When his gaze landed on her, he'd grown angry in expression and launched himself over a fallen log to dash into the greenery.

He clearly felt some sort of anger at the state _she_ was in and trusted her enough to leave the Halflings with her and an injured Boromir.

"Where's Sam?" Menna looked around, seeing only Merry and Pippin, the packs of the others were there, but Sam's was nowhere to be seen.

"Getting water," Pippin answered, "Are you alright?" he looked between the two of them.

"We will be well," Menna promised, "We merely need a rest."

"What happened?" Merry repeated, not thinking to ask if they'd found Frodo.

He and Pippin knew that the others had rushed out when they'd heard Boromir was missing as well, clearly thinking the man was a danger to Frodo for some reason. But Boromir was _right there_ , looking weary, but no more a danger to Frodo. If anything, it looked like the two of them had encountered an entirely different danger.

Menna glanced at Boromir a moment, the man's head bowed in shame. Of all the people on this quest, Boromir had created a bond with the two Halflings who were looking at them with such deep concern. She shook her head, the others would need to know about this, Aragorn especially, Legolas as well with his Elf ears and eyes, but the Halflings…this was not her story to tell, it would be up to Frodo or Boromir to add more.

"A fight," Menna murmured, taking a slow breath as she tried to sit back a little more.

"Orcs?" Pippin whispered, tensing and looking frightened now.

"A servant of the Dark Lord," Menna spoke, "Consumed by the darkness."

"A brute with no soul or care," Boromir added, his voice trembling with the force of his regret and guilt. It was raw, the way he spoke, as though he were on the verge of breaking himself. He understood what Menna was trying to do, but he would not let her lessen the true depth of the monster he'd become by attacking Frodo and then her, "Who desired nothing more than the power the Ring could bring about. Twisted and changed from within into a true monster. Merry, Pippin, you must know that I…"

"Boromir cast it off," Menna cut in, causing Boromir, whose gaze had been so focused on his feet, to look up at her in shock, "He was very brave, he fought nobly, and the threat has, for the moment, passed."

Boromir let out a deep breath, still staring at her for her consideration. He swallowed hard, feeling the familiar wetness gathering in his eyes again. All others, Gimli, Legolas, even Aragorn, he knew, would not have hidden such a fact from the Hobbits. The others, he was sure, would have torn him apart for what he'd done, figuratively...though in Gimli's case perhaps literally as well.

And yet here was this girl, one whom he would not lie and say he'd ever been fond of, defending him. He had not been the kindest to her, he knew that. He had been snide, short, suspicious of her. He had felt annoyance, he had noticed a closeness she had developed with Aragorn, the rightful king of his people. She displayed a lack of respect for the man which set him on edge. He thought her too young, too soft, to take part in this quest. They had no need for a woman on this quest.

She had not seemed to favor him either, not speaking much to him, keeping her own suspicious eye on him. He did not think she had much care for him…yet here she was, doing her best to not tarnish his honor in front of the Hobbits.

The way she looked at him, returned his gaze, told him it was not just out of pity or something similar that she tried to hold his tongue. She was not doing this to keep the Hobbits in the dark…but because she genuinely seemed to believe that he HAD fought back and had cast off the darkness. Him sitting beside them was proof he had, but she seemed so _certain_ that it meant he had a better chance of doing so again if ever it came to it. She seemed to understand just how hard it truly was for him to do it in the first place. He supposed it was because of the Ring. She was the only other member of the Company to have had it so close, within reach, and she understood the temptation, the call of it.

"Is there anything we can do?" Pippin asked, looking between them for any way to help them. Boromir was already hunched over, tying a scrap of his shirt around his leg.

"My pack?" Menna asked and Merry rushed to get it for her, "I should have some stores left to help with your leg, Boromir…"

"What happened to your leg?" Merry turned to Boromir in concern.

Boromir looked to Menna for that, not sure exactly how to explain it…when Menna held up a hand, a deep frown on her face.

The Hobbits looked at each other, tensing as they saw the serious look on her face, "What is it?" Pippin whispered.

Menna listened carefully to something and turned to Boromir, alarmed, "Do you hear that?"

Boromir looked around, examining the trees and trying to hear what she had, "I hear nothing…" he trailed off, realizing what she meant. He stood, ignoring the twinge of pain in his leg that raced up his spine as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

The woods were silent, too silent. There had been birds chirping before, the sounds of nature around them, but it had gone far too quiet and still. It was normally a sign of danger on the horizon or something unnatural lurking.

"Merry, Pippin," Boromir spoke, "Arm yourselves and prepare."

Menna quickly ducked in her pack, trusting Boromir to keep watch just for that moment, to pull her strand of leather out of her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She hissed, flinching slightly as the movement tugged at her ribs and jostled her arm, which was still quite sore and tender from Boromir's twist earlier. She bit her lip to keep going, grabbing her knives and sliding them into the leather's slits. She hesitated, looking down at the knives that Galadriel had gifted her. They would be useful against whatever danger was coming, but she had not used them yet, she didn't know their weight, how they felt in her hand, she wasn't familiar with them. She pushed them to the bottom of her pack and stood, moving to hide her pack in the roots of a nearby tree as Merry and Pippin stomped out the fire.

"What about Sam?" Merry looked to them.

"He went to get water!" Pippin repeated, fearful, as he pointed in the direction Sam had gone.

Menna looked to Boromir, "Guard them," she called to him, before she dashed off into the woods to find Sam and, hopefully, Frodo as well. She could still hear Boromir calling after her, but he wouldn't be able to be move fast enough with his leg injured.

She may not be familiar with this part of the land, but she knew the woods and trees, she knew the signs and what to look for, she had had to hunt for her own food more than a few times. She could, hopefully, track Sam down fast enough to get him back and safe.

~8~

There was hardly time for him to think as the Uruk-Hai swarmed around Aragorn, screaming and snarling as they dashed through the trees. He had been in dire straits before, faced his fair share of bad odds…but none that he could recall that would amount to this. It was almost as though the hills were alive and bleeding these monsters of Sauron. And he knew they were not normal Orcs advancing, no, they could not be so lucky.

He had known that there were Orcs along the northern banks of the great lake they'd come to rest beside, but they were far enough away that, even with marching nonstop, they would not reach the Company this quickly. They would have had time to flee and get away to safety, to continue their journey. He knew what Orcs looked like, he knew their strength, their tactics. And these creatures were unlike that of normal Orcs.

Orcs could not stand sunlight well, they were low-legged creatures, snarling and vicious, but relatively weak in comparison. These creatures...they were taller, broader, clearly stronger, straight-legged, almost human-like in shape. There were rumors, horrendous ones, that Uruk-Hai, the stronger breed of Orc, were created by mating Orc to human. He could not say from where they came, but it was clear they were far more dangerous than a normal Orc, they were able to endure the sunlight which made them even more of a threat.

He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, readying himself as the Uruk-Hai approached. He could see them, spread out, some clearly focused on him, while others were fully intent to go past him and into the rest of the wood behind him. He had to hope that Frodo had gotten away or gotten far enough to be safe from the creatures. All he could do was try to take down as many as he could, to draw attention to himself and give the others more time to defend themselves.

He could not lie to himself and say he was not concerned for Boromir and Menna especially. If they were hurt enough that Frodo feared for them, feared for Menna, he could not stop his mind from rushing to the thought of what state she would be in if the Uruk-Hai found her so injured. These creatures were ruthless and brutal, it would not matter to them that she was a woman, they would see her as human and attack without regard.

He did not doubt that, with the resources of Sauron, these creatures knew a Halfling held the Ring. That HAD to be the target of their attack. Menna would defend any of them. Though he knew her only a short while, he knew it was not in her to withdraw from something like this, not for her own life, not when the lives of others looked to her for protection. If she had made it to camp, where Pippin, Merry, and Sam were, he knew she would do all she could to guard them.

And he felt a fear claw at his heart at the thought. She was hurt, she had taken on Boromir and he could imagine the state it left her in. She would not be able to defend herself as well as normal, but he could not turn his back and run to camp. All that would do would be to lead the Uruk-Hai right to the others. He had to face them down, cut down as many as he could, and hope to the powers that be that the others would be safe.

He swung his sword just as the Uruk-Hai reached him, hacking through as many as he could. He blocked, parried, thrust, stabbed, swung, every move he had come to learn he used against the creatures but they were not an easy enemy to face. He managed to bring down two before he was forced back closer to the ruins. He used his surroundings as best he could, leaping onto the stones and using the new level to continue the fight, just narrowly escaping the creatures as they closed in on him. He panted and grit his teeth, willing himself to keep going, to try and get the upper hand. But it seemed like, no matter what he did or how hard he fought, how long his bravery held, the Uruk-Hai were too many.

He looked around, frantic, surrounded on all sides by the beasts, one lunging for him…

When suddenly an arrow of clearly Elvin make smashed into the creature, sending it falling from the ruins.

Aragorn looked over to see Legolas racing out of the woods, firing arrow after arrow as he ran towards where the Uruk-Hai had surrounded him. Gimli was quick to follow, rushing straight into the Uruk-Hai at the bottom as though a battering ram, swinging his axe wildly. He had never been more relieved to see his fellow comrades than he was now. And to see both Elf and Dwarf working together in such a way, it gave his heart a brief glimpse of hope for the Company. No matter their differences, they were all coming together now to face the common threat. It was different in the Mines, Gandalf had led them, he had been the one to keep them safest, now they were on their own, but they were surviving.

Aragorn thrust his sword through another beast, kicking it off the ruins when a loud noise rang out from deep in the woods, back towards where the river was.

It was a horn.

"The Horn of Gondor!" Legolas identified, turning to Aragorn in alarm.

There was only one person who had that horn...and only one reason he would use it: if he was in desperate need of help.

Aragorn quickly leapt down off the ruins, calling over to Legolas and Gimli, "Boromir!"

And Menna. It would have to mean Menna was in need of help as well. The two had left together, neither was in any state to fight. And if the Uruk-Hai had reached them, and Boromir was using the horn, they were overrun by the creatures. He did not want to give a name to the fear he felt grip him at the realization the beasts had made it to Menna and Boromir.

They tried, as best they could, to make their way back towards camp. There was no point to linger in the woods any longer. If the intent had been to try and draw the Uruk-Hai away, to not lead them to camp, it had been for nothing. For they had clearly found the camp already and those still there, the Halflings, would need more help. And so they took up their weapons, hacking and slashing their way through the beasts, desperately trying to make their way back to the camp.

They felled Uruk-Hai after Uruk-Hai, but it felt like an endless swarm.

~8~

Menna looked around frantically, trying to find any sign of Sam. She had expected, for having such large feet, that Hobbits would make clear footprints as they walked about. But it appeared she had underestimated the true loftiness of the species. There was almost no indentation in the ground to show that Sam had been in that direction. Perhaps if the ground had been wetter, a little more mud, it would be clearer. She was used to tracking deer and other animals, laying traps, sometimes even sneaking upon campsites. But Sam was quite the agile little fellow wasn't he?

She was of the mounting suspicion that Sam had not, in fact, gone to collect water but to look for Frodo himself. He was a very loyal person, hardly ever far from Frodo's side, and she had seen his utter devastation when they'd realized Frodo had gone missing. She had seen that look on the faces of others in the past, the look of feeling as though you had failed to keep someone safe that you had promised to protect. She would not put it past Sam to go looking for Frodo, especially when she, Aragorn, and Legolas had gone to search for Boromir. Sam was so protective of Frodo, it wouldn't take much to assume he feared Boromir had gone after Frodo as well.

This felt different, though, than when she had been looking for Frodo and Boromir. Before, the danger had been behind them, lurking in the dark, and she had only thought the danger ahead was Boromir. She had been right, in a way, but at that point the forest had been alive with sound, with nature. She had known what to expect, had been able to prepare herself that she might come upon the sight of Boromir attacking Frodo, just as she had.

This time, the forest was too silent, so much so that she couldn't call out to Sam for fear that she might draw the attention of the coming danger to either herself or Sam. There was almost no broken branches she could see, no footprints, no sign of Sam. She tried to listen, in the stillness, for the sounds of water, in the very slim chance that Sam HAD actually gone to get water, but even in the silence there was no sound she could make out. She was going to need to have words with Gimli about how he'd let Sam wander off when he was meant to guard the…

She gasped and spun around on her heel as a noise rang out of behind her, a horn echoing through the trees. She looked around, frantic, for one last sign of Sam, glancing back and forth between the empty wood and the direction the sound had come from. It took her one moment longer, hearing the horn sound again, before she turned and ran back the way she came, silently offering an apology to Sam, wherever he was, and praying that he would be alright.

She skid to a sudden halt when she saw something a short distance away, the most gruesome creatures she had ever had the misfortune to observe were barreling through the woods. Even from that distance she could see how horrendous they were. They were tall creatures with blackened skin and nearly glowing eyes, all misshapen, all disfigured in some way. But they were well armed, weapons at hand, and fast. She could hear their snarls as they drew nearer, could hear them crying out to 'find the Halfling.'

"Frodo…" she breathed, feeling a fear strike her. Frodo hadn't made it back to the camp before her or Boromir, he was still somewhere out in the woods and these creatures were clearly hunting him.

She shook her head and began to run once more. She could recall Boromir carrying a horn on his belt during their travels. She doubted he would be using it if it were not a dire situation. She had to hope that Frodo was safe as well, that Aragorn or Legolas, or even Gimli, had found him or Sam.

She pulled a knife from her boot and one from her belt as she prepared, two of the creatures had spotted her and were heading right for her. She grit her teeth and skid to another stop, taking careful aim with her knife. The two creatures didn't seem to have noticed the weapons in her hand, they were quite small, and they were not ducking or swerving as they ran, but moving straight for her. She waited till one was close within the range of her aim and skill and let the knife fly.

She didn't dare aim for the head, she knew it was an instinct to duck out of the way when something was thrown at the head. If it could be seen coming, it could be avoided. There was a time or two when she would stop at a tavern, some less than savory. Fights broke out, things were thrown, she had observed enough to notice who ducked and moved and when. If it was seen, the reaction was to move. But even then, it appeared to only occur when it was thrown right at the head. Most didn't flinch out of the way when an object was thrown lower, letting it bounce off the chest or leg with little care.

But this was not a goblet or a plate, it was a knife, and it struck true.

The creature, for it was not an Orc by her reckoning, fell to its knees with a roar of pain as the knife lodged itself in its chest. She hoped it had the same placement as a human with its heart, and it appeared it did for it sunk more to the ground. She held her breath as the second one actually looked over for just a moment, at the fallen member and she used that to her advantage, bringing up the second knife and throwing it as best she could.

With the creature distracted, even for just that moment, she hoped it would not turn in time to see the knife heading for it. It was still running, the chances of it changing course were small, but she still grabbed the next knife from her belt just to be safe, her eye trained on the blade as it flew.

She let out the breath when it hit the target, exactly where she hoped it would. And the second creature was felled, a knife wedged in its neck.

She had no time to congratulate herself for her aim, knowing she'd had enough time in the woods to practice her aim over the years. She knew her aim to be true when she used her knives, had spent long enough to perfect it, and in the heat of battle she had to trust her aim. She ran towards the fallen bodies, intending to grab her knives out of them, not wishing to use any more of the ones she was familiar with, when the wind was knocked out of her as something crashed into her.

She fell to her back, one of the creatures, a third she had not seen, landing on top of her with a snarl. Its teeth were sharpened into points, its breath worse than anything she could have ever imagined, as it slobbered and tried to claw at her. She struggled to keep its teeth away from her, squirming to avoid the blows its hands were trying to land. She brought her left arm up to block a snap, screaming as it sunk its teeth into her forearm.

But as it latched on, it was distracted by the taste of her and she managed to bring her other arm out, the knife still clasped in it and drove it up, right below its ear and the end of its jaw, into its skull. Its eyes widened as its mouth opened, falling limply on top of her. She closed her eyes tight, panting as she tried to keep the wetness behind her lids.

She swallowed hard and opened her eye, feeling a tear escape and trail down the side of her face, into her hairline. She grunted, gritting her teeth as she reached out and shoved the creature off her with all her might, rolling it to the side. She looked down at her arm, red and bleeding, and forced herself to make a fist, hissing at the pain of it, but relieved that it still functioned. Reaching out with her right arm she grabbed the knife from its head and wiped it off on its minimal clothing, clutching it tight as she pushed herself up. She swayed a bit from the move, the world spinning around her a moment, her ribs protesting most profoundly at having been landed on. But it stilled quickly enough and she pushed herself over to the other two creatures, yanking her knife out of the one's neck and looking to the other. She shook her head, knowing she was too worn to roll it on its side to get to her other knife, she had to abandon it.

She stood panting for just a moment, looking around to take stock of everything. She could not see any of the creatures lingering around, but that did not make her feel safe. She doubted she would until she had seen the others safe as well. She nodded to herself, taking as deep a breath as she could before she began to run back in the direction of the camp, hoping she was not too late…

~8~

Merry and Pippin huddled together in the hollow of a large tree, hiding where Boromir had instructed them, as they heard the monsters swarming around them. They were clutching their daggers close to their hearts, trying to be brave despite how they trembled. A thud nearby made them look over to see Frodo! He was hiding by the roots of another tree, but he was safe and alive!

"Frodo!" Merry hissed as quietly as he could, drawing the Hobbit's attention over to them, "Hide here, quick!"

Pippin began to gesture frantically for him to rush over, "Come on!" but Frodo just looked at them, _so sadly_ , shaking his head with a deep regret in his eyes. Pippin frowned as he saw it, looking back and forth between Frodo and Merry, who had tensed beside him, "What's he doing?!"

Merry swallowed hard, feeling tears gather in his eyes as he understood Frodo's look, "He's leaving."

Pippin's eyes widened, "No!" he cried, trying to stand and rush to Frodo himself, to drag him back over to them, but Merry grabbed his arm to pull him back.

"Pippin!"

Boromir spun around, hearing the call, as did the Uruk-Hai who turned and began to race in that direction. He threw himself between the beasts and the Halflings, both looking terrified as they were swarmed. He desperately wanted to call for more help, but the Horn of Gondor had been cleaved in two by a blow from an Uruk-Hai only moments ago.

"Run!" he shouted to them, "Run!"

But Merry and Pippin appeared to be frozen with fear, so he swung his sword at the brutes. If he could cut down enough of them to give the Halflings a chance, they could take it and be off, be _safe_. He had failed to protect Frodo as he'd sworn to do, but he could still do this, he could still protect these two Halflings.

He swung his sword to the side, hearing a noise in that direction and stumbled back, a pain shooting through him. He staggered, looking down to find a thick, black arrow lodged in his chest. The world around him faded, blurring, the noise of the battle going silent. He could hear, though, Merry and Pippin's fearful shouting, could only turn his head to see other Uruk-Hai grabbing them to try and pull them away. He swung his sword feebly at them, but it was too late. He tried to grip his sword and looked back at the creature that had fired at him, if he could just defeat that one…

He stared down the Uruk-Hai as it readied another arrow on its large bow and he knew, with the state of his leg and the arrow already lodged in him he knew...this arrow would be the one that did him in. He would fight, he would push himself on, he knew, he would try until his last breath to get Pippin and Merry back, to stop a many Uruk-Hai as he could from following the ones that had taken them, but the next arrow would seal his death. And so he faced it, tensing and readying himself for the blow. It was as though his vision narrowed and all he could see was the sneering, grinning face of the creature holding the bow, its arm pulled back, ready to fire...

When it let out a loud bellow, dropping the bow and stumbling to the side...a knife, clearly of tavern make, embedded in the side of its head.

A/N: O.O A KNIFE struck the Uruk-Hai? Hmm...I know someone who is fond of knife throwing...I wonder... ;)

Menna may have thrown her knife and stopped the Uruk-Hai firing two more arrows at Boromir, but HAS she actually saved him? Just one arrow looked quite deadly in the movie and it was very near Boromir's heart... :'( I suppose we'll find out very soon...

Because there's only ONE chapter left! O.O Can you believe it? The next chapter will be the last for this story :'(

Some notes on reviews...

Menna might have saved Boromir, or she may have only saved him from the pain of more arrows, we'll have to wait and see :(


	10. A Fractured Fellowship

A/N: I am SO sorry this is so late :( Let's just say Friday the 13th lived up to its name :( But I hope you'll enjoy this final chapter of Thief in the Night :)

~8~

A Fractured Fellowship

Menna didn't stop in her sprint back to the camp. She paused only when she heard a set of screams that sounded like the Hobbits. Through the trees she could make out Boromir, an arrow embedded in his chest. Her attention flickered ahead to the orc creature that had struck him. She saw him lifting another arrow and quickly raised a knife of her own. She threw it with a well-practiced accuracy. The creature wasn't moving, it wasn't a running target, it was stationary. That was always an easier target to hit. She didn't have to worry about it moving, she didn't have to worry about it seeing her knife coming, for it wasn't even looking at her.

So she threw it, aiming for the beast's head. She could have aimed for the arm, to keep it from releasing the arrow, but there would be nothing to stop it from attacking afterwards. These creatures needed to be stopped, not just distracted. She had already gotten her second knife raised when her first struck the creature in the side of its head, felling it in one strike.

A creature that had been just behind it snarled at her for the attack and raced at her, but she had already released her knife, driving it right into the creature's heart. She started running closer to the camp, hearing the Hobbits screaming even more. Just as she passed a large tree they came into view, Merry and Pippin struggling in the hold of two retreating creatures who were snarling and making their way into the woods once more. She could see Boromir clearly now, the man struggling to reach for the Hobbits but losing his footing.

She gripped another knife from her leather strap and looked around in case there were any more of the creatures lurking. But it appeared that just as she had arrived at the camp so had Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, the trio already hacking their way through the remaining creatures. While they had the other creatures well in hand, she ran over to Boromir's side, the man having fallen to his knees.

She could hear the sounds of battle going on behind her and she kept her attention fixed all around her, not about to let any of the creatures sneak up behind them. She could see a large pile of them in a heap around Boromir, he had clearly fought hard to protect Merry and Pippin, had been willing to give his life to see them safe. But she would be damned if she allowed him to fall in this battle. He had not cast off the temptation and darkness of the Ring only for his journey to end here.

"Boromir," she spoke quickly to him, using her remaining strength to keep him upright, not trusting that moving him would help. As far as she knew of wounds, moving as little as possible till it had been treated was always best. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Aragorn was rushing towards them, the creatures that Gimli and Legolas were unable to reach already fleeing into the woods and away from them.

They had gotten what they'd come for, she feared.

They had taken Merry and Pippin, they clearly knew a Halfling held the Ring, but not which one.

While she feared for the Hobbits, right now she was holding a fading Boromir in her arms, feeling his lifeblood coating her hands, her fear rested with him right now. She and the others were relatively safe for the moment, but Boromir was in the most danger.

"Be still," Menna murmured as calmly as she could manage, looking up at Aragorn as he skid to his knees beside Boromir's broken horn to help her hold the man up.

"Boromir," Aragorn quickly took in the sight of the arrow.

Boromir gasped painfully, reaching for Aragorn's arm, looking to the man with desperation in his expression, "They took the little ones..."

"Boromir, hush," Menna tried to get him to be still, "Save your strength…"

But Boromir was focused on Aragorn, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, "Frodo...where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go," Aragorn told them, adding, without needing to say it, that he knew what had happened between them at the ruins. If he had found Frodo, then he had to know what Boromir had tried to do, what Menna had stopped him from doing.

"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him."

"But you did not," Menna reminded him, "You returned to yourself."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn reassured him as well. There would be no temptation such as Boromir had faced to plague them from that point. Frodo had ensured that.

Menna would not lie and say she was not somewhat relieved to hear that, as terrible as it was to say. She feared for Frodo, for what it would mean for him to be out there on his own without them to protect him, of course she did. But a part of her was thankful the darkness that was the Ring was nowhere near her again.

"Forgive me, I did not see…" Boromir struggled to speak, "I have failed you all."

"You have failed no one," Menna told him. Frodo lived, he still held the Ring, and Boromir had pulled himself from the darkness and temptation.

"You fought bravely," Aragorn told him, "You have kept your honor. Now be calm so we can tend your wound. There is still hope yet."

"Leave it," Boromir argued weakly, his face unnaturally pale, "It is over...the world of Men will fall and all will come to darkness and my city to ruin…"

"Boromir," Menna cut in, her voice firm in a way Aragorn had never heard before, "Be silent and still…Legolas!" she turned, calling to the Elf who was already on his way over, "Have you any experience with healing?"

Legolas looked down at the man slowly being lowered to the ground by Aragorn, "I do," he told them.

And he had, not on the level of Elrond, but far more than what the basic soldiers of the Mirkwood were taught. His mind flashed back to a fellow Elf he had known and grown up around, how she had healed a Dwarf of a Morgul poison that had infected an arrow wound. It could not be much different than an Uruk-Hai arrow. Growing up in the Mirkwood, with the constant threat of spiders, he and his kind needed to know how to heal while out on the field, being the Prince he was expected to excel in all areas. On his journeys with Aragorn, he had learned even more.

But all his training would amount to nothing if he didn't have more than that, the arrow wound was too near Boromir's heart.

"But I need herbs," Legolas continued, looking to Aragorn, "Athelas would be best…"

Menna was up before Aragorn could open his mouth, rushing to where she'd hidden her pack, relieved to see it was still there. She quickly rooted around and pulled out her store of the plant, "It is dried," she warned as she held it out to the Elf, "Will it still help?"

Legolas took the plant from her, his eyes slightly wide as he stared at it. She had a small pouch of what appeared to be flakes of dried leaves, another rolled cloth that had small bunches of the plant itself, one even appeared relatively fresh. But her question came back to him, and he shook his head, the dryness of it would matter little for he'd be making it into a paste either way.

"Will it help?" she repeated.

"Very much," Legolas told her.

"Then use it, heal him," Menna nearly ordered, but Legolas was already moving to make the paste.

"Do not waste your strength on me," Boromir wheezed out, "My people…"

Aragorn turned to him, shushing him slightly, "You underestimate the strength of us all. So long as we hold true to each other, it shall never fail us," he tried to offer Boromir a comforting smile, "They will look for your coming from the white tower...but they will have to wait longer. You will not be leaving us. I swear to you, no matter what comes, we will not let the White City fall, nor your people fail..."

"Our people..." Boromir corrected, " _Our_ people..."

"Aragorn, the arrow," Legolas called as he finished with the paste, moving over to kneel on Boromir's other side, across from Aragorn.

Aragorn nodded as Gimli hurried over with a small piece of wood for Boromir to bite down on, but before the man would take it, he latched onto Aragorn's arm, "I need you to know," he told the man, "I whatever may come, I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my King."

Aragorn knew not what to say as he reached down to grip the arrow, preparing to pull it out. He looked up for only a moment to Menna, the girl nodding at him and he turned back to Boromir, silently counting in his mind before he pulled the arrow out, Gimli using all his strength to hold Boromir down as the man screamed and thrashed in pain.

Menna watched as Boromir's eyes rolled back into his head as Legolas began to murmur in Elvish, pressing the athelas paste into the wound. She moved back from the trio, Aragorn and Gimli holding Boromir down while Legolas focused on healing the man of his wounds, wanting to give them more room to work. She stumbled slightly, her back coming in contract with a tree and took a breath, letting herself slide down it. Now that the battle was over, now that they seemed safe for the moment, it was as though all the power that had built up inside her from the 'thrill of the fight' was seeping out of her, leaving her feeling drained and worn. Moving now, she could feel how sore her arm was, how much her ribs stung, how her vision swam and her head was throbbing.

She let her head fall back against the bark of the tree, looking up at the sky that was still sunny and bright despite the terror that had just found them. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, just needing a moment to rest, just a moment to…

~8~

Menna slowly woke to the feel of someone gently touching the side of her face. She scrunched her nose in instinct as her eyes slowly fluttered open to see Aragorn crouched in front of her, a deep look of concern on his face. For just a moment, still in a hazy state of rest, she felt herself turn her head more into his touch. Before she winced, reminded that that was the side Boromir had struck her on. She pulled away a little more, blinking her eyes to fully as she woke up. Aragorn's hand, however, didn't stray far from her face as it moved up to her hairline where there was a small cut, his finger lightly tracing the side of it. It reminded her of when she had attended to the cut that had been on his neck.

For a long moment she couldn't bring herself to say anything, still just a little more exhausted from the last few battles and wanting a moment of peace before it was disrupted with talk. She used that time to observe Aragorn as he seemed to take note and stock of all her various injuries. She must look a state. Her fight with Boromir hadn't been easy, Merry and Pippin's reaction to her were more than enough to tell her she had been a sight even then. She could only imagine how much worse she looked after fighting those mutated creatures.

She didn't particularly care how she looked, in the sense that a wound or cut or scar meant little to her. When she had first started to live among the wood and the stone she had seen injuries as signs of her being too weak to take care of herself. That, if she had been better, if she had been stronger, she would never have gotten them in the first place. She took great care to hide them whenever she was among other people. She didn't want to risk them thinking she was someone they could easily target. It wasn't for many more years that she would start to think of her scars as a show of strength, as a sign that she had survived. She knew women in the Villages or the nobles in their towers likely tried to keep their skin unblemished. They saw markings such as these as flaws. She couldn't remember seeing any such a scar on any of the female elves she had noticed in Lothlorien, nor had she seen any markings on any elf she encountered on her travels.

She wondered idly if that was why Aragorn was staring at her wounds as though they were out of place, had he seen a woman bear battle scars before? She did not know much about the Rangers, for surely there must be females among them...but she could imagine Aragorn's elf maiden had not seen such battle or garnered such wounds. How would an elf like that be able to rule over a people that may end up war-torn should Sauron get the Ring? She could not imagine the people of any kingdom reacting well to an elf who held no role in a battle to come as opposed to...

She shook her head from where her mind was going. She cared not what others thought of her or her scars. It was not their body, it was hers, and the way she viewed her scars or injuries was at most a mere annoyance when they were fresh. They could be painful and irritating then. But once they healed, it was merely yet another show of her strength and will, it was just another one she had gotten in the course of her life. These weren't the first, they would not be the last.

Yet Aragorn was looking at her as though regretful she had suffered even the faintest of injury. The way his gaze drifted from her face to her arm, to the various cuts and bruises scattered across her body? He looked almost as though he were shocked to see them. She could admit the damage was likely extensive, but it was no worse than things she has dealt with in the past.

"Here," was all Aragorn could seem to muster as he turned to pick up a small cup of liquid, offering it to her.

Menna took it with her right hand, just letting her left rest across her front. She brought it closer to her face, taking a soft sniff as she could smell something faint in the liquid, "Is this ginger?" she sniffed it again, even as she looked up at Aragorn.

"Aye," he nodded, "It is good for swe..."

"Swelling and pain," Menna finish for him. She had picked up some rather useful knowledge of herb lore over the years, speaking to midwives in different areas about plants that were useful while travelling. Ginger had been a common one brought up. She didn't bother asking Aragorn where he had gotten some, whether it was from one of the fallen packs of the Hobbits left behind or something that has been found naturally in the area, she just turned to him, offering the cup back, "Boromir needs this more than I..."

"Boromir has used nearly your entire stock of athelas," Aragorn reminded her.

"And his wounds are far more severe," she argued, "His wounds are more important than mine..."

"Your wounds deserve just as much attention. You are not unimportant, not to me, Menna."

"Aragorn..." she began to shake her head, about to remind him that a sprained arm was nothing compared to an arrow through the chest.

But Aragorn cut her off, "Boromir rests," he told her, "He is not awake to drink this, and we have more ginger to spare. Drink."

Menna let out a sigh, but took a sip of the liquid, looking over to see there was a small fire going, that they had heated up the drink into something of a tea. She knew that, sometimes after a wound was gotten, the body might not always be able to handle the pain of it and that a person would experience a fit of some sort, as though the wound and the shock of it was overwhelming them. The liquid, warming it, was meant to remedy that, to keep the body warm and the person calm. Not that she thought that would happen to her, as she had been trying to tell Aragorn, she had endured worse without such tending.

Aragorn said nothing as he crouched there before her, watching her drink, watching so intently she was sure that he meant for her to drink all of it before he said another word. Only when she was finished and set it aside did he actually speak.

"This should never have happened," he murmured, though she wasn't sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself.

"You cannot control the will of Orcs, Aragorn, no matter the king you claim yourself to be."

Aragorn gave her a firm look, understanding her teasing tone was meant to lighten whatever guilt he was feeling, but this was not the time for something so light, it was not the time for forgiveness when his judgement had so harmed her. He shook his head at that thought, "Boromir," he continued, "Had I listened to your warning..."

"Had you listened to the warnings I am sure the others gave you about me, I would not have been here to give you such a warning in the first place," Menna told him gently.

"But I knew that there was a danger in Boromir," Aragorn murmured as he put a hand on his chest. For as much as he had defended Boromir to her, a part of him HAD taken her words to heart, had been wary of Boromir.

Menna frowned as she looked at Aragorn for his words, how he had said 'danger' made her feel he was ONLY speaking of Boromir, "And me? Did you not sense that same danger from me?"

Aragorn looked at her, searching her eyes, but shook his head, "No."

Menna felt a small smile grow at hearing that, a gratefulness shining in her eyes. She didn't know when it happened, she hadn't much cared what the rest of the fellowship thought of her, whether they trusted her or they accepted her, so long as they allowed her to travel with them and take part in this quest to ensure the darkness would depart from their land. But somewhere along the line Aragorn's trust in her had become something she didn't realize she wanted. It wasn't that he was the leader, and that the others would follow the example he set. It wasn't that, as their leader, he would have the final say in whether she remained part of the fellowship or not. It didn't even have to do with this crown he claimed was his, she still thought that was a jest being played on her.

No. It had to do with the talks, with the way he was willing to sit with her, the way he didn't treat her as though her past was something to look on with suspicion. He acknowledged the pain and the loss of her home, he acknowledged her skills and how she had to gain them, and she genuinely felt that when he sat up with her at night it wasn't to keep watch of her, it wasn't to ensure she wouldn't steal the Ring again. It was because he _wanted_ to talk with her and sit with her, that he enjoyed her company as she had come to enjoy his.

Merry and Pippin trusted her to a degree, perhaps even Legolas and Gimli to a lesser extent. It appeared she had just recently gained Boromir's trust, or at least his approval, his thanks. She held no hope of gaining Frodo or Sam's fully, nor would she expect to. On such a quest, Frodo could not trust any so much as he trusted Sam, Boromir had proven that. Nor would Sam trust any who posted a threat to his friend. Gandalf, with all his power and wisdom, had seemed a distant figure to her, had seemed more intent on the Ring and the quest than any who took part in it beyond Frodo. But Aragorn, it was different with Aragorn. She couldn't say how, she couldn't see why it actually mattered to her that he trusted her, but hearing that he did, that he had never seen her as a threat, made her feel warm, it meant something to her.

She forced herself to look away, thoughts like that would be of no help at the moment. She turned and looked back to the camp, looking to see that Boromir was resting on the ground as Aragorn had said, Legolas was sitting beside him though the Elf looked quite exhausted, far more tired than she had ever seen an elf look before. Gimli was going back and forth between the both, tending to them, while it appeared Aragorn had been designated to tend to her.

"Will Boromir live?" Menna asked after a moment, letting out a sigh as she felt the ginger starting to do its job. If she had just used up all of her store of Athelas on Boromir and he died now she would be quite cross. That herb could have gone and towards any other of them should they get injured later on, but it appeared almost all of it had been used on Boromir. And she firmly believed the man had more to do, more to prove, to die now.

"Aye," Aragorn told her, turning in his crouch to sit a little bit more so he could face the camp. He observed Legolas as the Elf actually closed his eyes for a moment, "Legolas expended a great deal of energy healing Boromir, he will need to rest, as will Boromir," he looks back at Menna, "As will you."

The firm way he had said that last part told her that he was going to insist she rest no matter what. Looking at the state that Boromir and Legolas were in, they would all need a little bit of rest after this last battle.

"But Merry, Pippin?" Menna looked to him, she could vaguely remember the Hobbits being carried away by those creatures just as she had arrived to throw her knife at the one attacking Boromir. It was all feeling like a blur right now, but she could remember them shouting as they were carried off.

"We will find them," Aragorn promised her, "But we will be no good to them if we are too exhausted to fight the Uruk-Hai who have taken them."

"And Frodo? Sam?"

"Fled."

She shook her head, "If we go now, we may yet catch them..."

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn told her solemnly.

"And Boromir's fate? We cannot leave him here either," Menna began to say, not thinking for a second that they would just abandon the man, not after they had worked so hard to heal him. But wanting to make it clear that wherever they went, whenever they set out to go after Merry and Pippin once more, SHE would be going with them.

"Nor shall we," Aragorn agreed, "When he is well enough to move, we will go for the nearest village we pass and acquire a horse to send him back to Gondor."

Menna nodded at that, it was a wise plan. Her arm would heal fast enough, perhaps just needing a few days of disuse, her ribs should be fine if she bound them well enough. She knew Legolas would be energized once more, sooner than all of them. She would be able to continue on this quest, but an arrow to the chest, even with Elven healing, could not be easy to ignore.

"For now we rest," Aragorn repeated to her.

Menna looked down as Aragorn picked up a small bowl, one she hadn't noticed was set just next to the cup of ginger water. It seemed to be some kind of paste that he had been making just before she woke.

"What is that?" Menna asked when he tested the consistency of it.

"Arnica," he said, "You used a great deal of your athelas stock, but there are still other herbs we can use to help you heal," he moved closer to her, coming to sit on her left side, the paste still in hand. His gaze moved over her, as though trying to determine where it would be best to apply the paste, there wasn't enough to help with all of her wounds, but there was enough to handle some of them, he just had to determine the worst, "When applied to the skin, it can soothe aching muscles and reduce swelling," he began to explain as he scooped a liberal amount onto his hand to begin applying to her shoulder, which was already red and quite puffy around her shoulder.

Menna hissed just slightly at the cool temperature of the paste compared to her overly warm skin, but she couldn't deny that it did feel quite nice. She knew what arnica was, it was another plant that was quite good for sprains as well as for healing wounds, she just hadn't noticed any in the area. Aragorn must have though.

She shifted just slightly where she was sitting as she felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought that Aragorn had gone looking through the different plants just to try and find something that might help her with her wounds. She looked over at him and then Legolas and Gimli, her eyes searching them to make sure they hadn't been injured as well, that he wasn't wasting resources on her. Thankfully they all seemed in much better straits than she and Boromir.

Menna allowed Aragorn to continue to apply the paste in silence, he seemed quite focused and intent on what he was doing. She watched as he slowed, the first scoop of paste that he had taken now worked into her shoulder. He looked her up and down, looking at her other wounds as though to determine where he should put the last the paste. She had some scrapes, she had some bruises, but it was truly just her ribs and her arm that would pain her the most in the coming days.

Aragorn, however, seem to determine exactly where to use the last of the arnica. He scooped up the very last of the paste, looking at her intently as he gently reached out, touching the side of her face where Boromir had struck her, what he had been assessing when she woke. His touch was light, all too aware of the bruising that was already forming there. Menna couldn't quite look away when their eyes connected but neither did Aragorn pull away from her either.

A moment later he gently lowered his hand from her face, though he still didn't look away.

"My thanks," Menna murmured.

Aragorn could only nod, seeming to shake himself out of the moment with her words, as he turned to set the bowl to the side, resting back against the tree, sitting beside her. Everything was silent for a moment, when he looked down at her to see her eyes fluttering as though she were trying to keep awake. Between the ginger, the battle, and the paste, he couldn't fault her for her exhaustion. But he could see she didn't want to sleep, and he could guess why.

"Rest," he repeated, "Gimli and I will keep watch."

"You should rest," Menna argued, but her voice was weakening with the sleep she could feel creeping up on her. She didn't want to sleep, she didn't want to be seen as weak. She'd already gotten injured, if she fell asleep now, she didn't want to be a burden. But if Aragorn was going to rest too...

"Soon," Aragorn promised her, reaching down absently to take her left hand, as though it might be a comfort to her and allow her to feel secure enough to sleep once more. He watched, unaware that a small smile had grown on his face as she began to drift off. But the smile turned into something else when, moments later, her head fell a little to the side and came to rest on his shoulder.

It began to fade the longer he looked at her, she was so injured already, and the true fight had not even begun. She had been injured by the man she had demanded be saved, and now both were living because of her actions. He couldn't help the relief that filled him at the thought that both Boromir and Menna had survived this battle. But he also couldn't help a dread that seeped into his bones at the notion that this was just the beginning. There would be many more battles to come, much more evil to face, and the fellowship was already so fractured, the uncertainty that would follow them in regards to Frodo's own quest would be unbearable at times.

He saw only one path to follow now should Legolas prove skilled at healing and Boromir capable of movement...

Come morning, they would be hunting Orc.

To be continued...in...Darkest Before Dawn!

A/N: O.O The story is over! And Boromir is ALIVE? O.O

Well, he's alive for now, whether Legolas actually managed to _save_ him will be revealed in the next story ;) I think that will also be the story where Aragorn and Menna get even closer, and there may be something of an interesting reason behind it ;) ;) Menna is still quite a mystery to him and she may get a bit more mysterious as the story goes :)

I feel like, with the change of Boromir's fate (so far), it hopefully makes sense. Menna manged to stop the Uruk-Hai before it could launch two more arrows at Boromir, he was able to keep fighting until he was hit with 3, so, to me, that makes it seem like there might have still been hope to save him. I use a bit of the Hobbit movies as a reference for this too and yes, I know the Hobbit movies stray from the books with the inclusion of Tauriel, but as this is a fanfiction that follows the movies, for the most part, it will take the movie version of the Hobbit into consideration too. In that movie we saw Tauriel heal someone of a different species of a poisoned arrow using Athelas. If she, a 'mere Silvan elf' can manage that, I figure it's not a far cry to imagine Legolas just as capable, even more so. Being the prince and being out fighting as often as we saw, I felt no matter how distant his father was that he would have made sure Legolas knew healing as well as a precaution. So if Tauriel can heal a Dwarf days after he's been poisoned and the wound has been festering, then the Prince of Mirkwood could certainly heal a human moments after he's injured. Menna also carries athelas on her, which assisted Legolas in the healing too.

If he lives, I wonder if Boromir will be grateful that it was largely Menna that saved him, giving him another chance to redeem/prove himself, or if he will be resentful that he could have died with no one else knowing his shaming weakness and having died to protect someone else? Hmm... }:)

I know Menna probably would have been MUCH more concerned about Frodo and the others than she appears, but she's dead tired, wounded, sore, and still sort of sluggish as she speaks to Aragorn. She needs a little time to process her own wounds and the immediate situation before she can really react to something she can't see. But we'll see more of her thoughts on it in the next story ;)

Finally, I really have to say thank you guys SO much! Really, I give each and every reader/reviewer/favoriter/follower/ko-fi giver/anythinger a virtual hug because you guys are amazing :) I write for you guys and I'm just so touched that you all liked the story and am truly thankful that you're enjoying Menna :) I'll do my very best to keep it up in the future, because you guys most definitely deserve it. I love you all :')

Some notes on reviews...

Yup, there'll be two more stories after this one, one for each movie :) So next we get a revision of Two Towers ;)

I hope you like the little twist, Boromir DOES live! :D ...well, so far };) We'll have to wait till the next story to see if he makes it out of the woods completely ;)

We'll have to wait and see if Menna drops any more hints about her past to know for sure who she may or may not be ;)

Aww thank you! :') I'm so glad you've been enjoying the stories so far :) I have to admit, the movie-stories are probably my favorites to write, breaking them out into 10 or even 12 chapters for an hour and a half/two hour movie gives me so much room to really get into their minds and understand them better, I'm so happy that you've liked Menna, I hope you'll enjoy her next two stories too :)

Don't apologize! I love any review no matter what, I'm beyond happy that you're enjoying Menna so much, that really means a lot to me to hear that you like the LotR story as much as you do :') I hope the next two stories will be something you'll enjoy just as much :)


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